The Witcher: Chimera

Chapter 1: The Chimera and The Kitsune

…

The creaking wheels of the old wooden cart blended with the rhythmic clop of hooves, an almost soothing cadence in the oppressive stillness of the Velen countryside. The sun hung low on the horizon, its dim rays casting long shadows over the barren, windswept fields. Veylan sat silently, the reins slack in his gloved hands. His silver hair stirred in the breeze, his eyes scanning the treeline for any sign of danger. Even in the calm, his predator's instincts never fully rested.

Leaning against him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder, was Erynn. Her fiery red hair spilled over the thick cloak she had pulled tight around her slender frame. She shifted slightly, sighing with contentment. Her soft breaths were the only sound besides the cart's progress, and for a rare moment, peace seemed within reach.

"You don't relax often enough," Erynn murmured, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shoulder.

"Velen isn't exactly the place for it," Veylan replied, his tone gruff but not unkind.

Erynn chuckled lightly and snuggled closer, her fox-like slyness tempered by the vulnerability of the moment. She was the only one who could reach through his hard exterior, coaxing humanity from the beast within.

The tranquility shattered in an instant.

A sharp whistle pierced the air, followed by the dull thud of an arrow embedding itself into the dirt road just ahead of the horses. The startled animals whinnied, rearing slightly, and the cart jolted to a halt. Erynn bolted upright, her fox-like eyes narrowing, her hand instinctively gripping the edge of her cloak.

Veylan didn't flinch. His sharp eyes locked onto the treeline where shadows moved, figures slipping from the undergrowth with practiced stealth. He counted six—no, seven—armed figures in light armor adorned with leaves and animal hides. Scoia'tael.

The leader, a lithe elf with a longbow still in hand, stepped forward. His face was pale and angular, his amber eyes sharp with suspicion. "Off the cart, Witcher," he commanded in the harsh Common Speech. "We've no quarrel with you, but these roads aren't for the likes of your kind."

Veylan's jaw tightened, his hand drifting subtly to the hilt of his steel sword. "I'm just passing through," he said, his voice low and even. "You let me go, and I let you walk away without your teeth scattered across the dirt."

The tension in the air crackled as the Scoia'tael shifted, some unsheathing blades, others readying bows. The leader's lips curled into a sneer. "Big words for a mutant. You—"

"Stop." Erynn's voice, melodic yet firm, sliced through the tension like a razor. She stepped down from the cart before Veylan could stop her, her cloak flowing around her like a crimson tide.

The Scoia'tael hesitated, taken aback by her commanding presence.

"You speak Elder Speech, I assume," Erynn said, switching fluidly to their language. Her tone was calm, measured, yet carried an edge that demanded respect. "What in the name of Leth'aen are you doing threatening travelers on the road like common brigands?"

The leader's sneer faltered, replaced by wide-eyed shock. He looked her up and down, noting the graceful movement of her step, the way her fingers brushed the air with practiced precision, as if shaping invisible wards. His companions exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence wavering.

"You're... Aen Seidhe," the leader stammered. "And a sorceress?"

"That, and more," she replied smoothly, her fiery hair catching the dying sunlight as she pulled her hood back. Her golden-green eyes gleamed like polished gemstones, locking onto the elf's gaze. "What are you doing accosting a Witcher and his companion, instead of fighting for the cause you claim to serve?"

The leader took a step back, confusion and embarrassment creeping into his expression. "Why would an elven mage travel with... with a mutant?" He spat the last word, his voice thick with disdain.

"Perhaps because this 'mutant' has saved more elven lives than you could ever hope to," Erynn shot back, her words cutting like a blade. "Or perhaps because he's more honorable than half the so-called warriors hiding in the woods."

Veylan, still seated on the cart, let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "I'd step lightly if I were you. She's a lot scarier than I am."

The Scoia'tael murmured amongst themselves, clearly unnerved. Their leader raised his hand, silencing them. His sharp eyes narrowed as he regarded Erynn. "Why are you here? The Vrihedd Brigade would gladly welcome someone of your talents."

Erynn raised an elegant brow. "And tie myself to your failures? No. My fight is my own. Now, unless you want to see exactly how much of a sorceress I am, you'll step aside."

The elf hesitated, his pride warring with his survival instincts. Finally, he gave a sharp nod, stepping back. "Let them pass," he ordered his companions, his tone bitter.

Erynn turned back to Veylan, a small, triumphant smile on her lips. "Shall we?"

Veylan shook his head, a faint smirk curling his mouth. "You didn't have to show off."

"And you didn't have to draw your sword," she quipped, reclaiming her seat beside him. "But we all have our habits."

As the cart rolled forward once more, the Scoia'tael watched in silence, their gazes trailing the strange pair until they disappeared into the twilight.

"Who is she?" one of them muttered.

The leader shook his head, his voice hushed. "I don't know. But anyone willing to stand between a Witcher and his blade is not someone I'll cross lightly again."

…

The Scoia'tael camp was hidden deep in the dense woods, nestled in a hollow surrounded by ancient oaks and brambles. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and wood smoke, mingling with the faint metallic tang of dried blood on weapons. Tents of muted greens and browns blended seamlessly into the undergrowth, while elven sentries patrolled silently along the camp's perimeter.

Vaelas, the leader of the ambush party, pushed past the camp guards, his face a mask of frustration and unease. His boots crunched against the muddy ground as he approached the central tent, where his commander awaited. Inside, several Scoia'tael officers sat around a crude wooden table, poring over maps and whispering strategies for their next raid.

Vaelas stopped at the entrance, standing stiffly at attention. "Commander Caelir," he announced, his voice clipped. "We encountered... a situation."

Caelir, a tall, broad-shouldered elf with battle-hardened features, looked up from the table. His silver hair was pulled back tightly, and his sharp green eyes pierced Vaelas like daggers. "What situation?" he demanded, his tone cold.

Vaelas hesitated, his mind racing to find the right words. "We stopped a cart on the southern road. A Witcher was driving it, but... there was something unusual about him. And he wasn't alone."

Caelir leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Unusual? In what way? Speak plainly."

Vaelas took a steadying breath, his mind flashing back to the encounter. "He was like other Witchers—scarred, pale, with the usual yellow cat-eyes. But when we confronted him... his eyes almost turned red. Blood red, like something... monstrous. It was brief, but unmistakable."

The murmurs around the table ceased, and the officers turned their full attention to Vaelas. Caelir's brows furrowed, his expression unreadable. "Red eyes? Are you certain?"

"Yes, Commander," Vaelas said firmly. "And his companion..." He hesitated again, struggling to articulate the strangeness of the encounter. "She was Aen Seidhe, fiery red hair, elegant, clearly a sorceress. She spoke our language with authority, defended the Witcher like he was some revered ally. She called him... honorable."

Caelir narrowed his eyes. "An elven sorceress, traveling with a Witcher?" His voice was laced with disbelief. "Unusual indeed. What else?"

Vaelas shifted uncomfortably. "She commanded us to let them pass, and there was power in her words. But it wasn't just her magic. It was him. He didn't reach for his sword, but there was an aura about him, something feral, like a predator sizing up its prey. I've faced Witchers before, Commander. This one wasn't just a mutant. He felt... wrong, like there was something more beneath his skin."

The officers exchanged uneasy glances, the implications of Vaelas's words settling over the tent like a dark cloud. Caelir tapped his fingers against the table, his sharp mind working through the information.

"Did they say where they were going?" Caelir asked finally.

"No," Vaelas admitted. "But they were heading east, toward the old forest roads. If they're moving through Velen, they'll likely skirt close to Nilfgaardian territory."

Caelir rose to his full height, towering over the others in the tent. "If this Witcher is as unusual as you claim, he could pose a threat, or an opportunity. And if he travels with one of our own, there is more to this story than meets the eye."

"Should we track them?" one of the officers suggested, their voice hesitant.

Caelir shook his head. "Not yet. We need more information before we risk provoking someone like that." He turned back to Vaelas. "But keep your scouts watching the roads. If they surface again, I want to know immediately."

Vaelas bowed his head, relieved to have delivered his report but still haunted by the memory of those crimson-tinged eyes and the commanding presence of the elven sorceress. "Yes, Commander. By your leave."

As Vaelas exited the tent, the officers resumed their discussions, their voices hushed and uncertain. Caelir stared down at the map, his mind racing with possibilities. A Witcher with red eyes and a sorceress companion, a pair that defied explanation.

"Even the Continent's filthiest swamps manage to cough up surprises," he muttered to himself, his voice tinged with unease. "But what is their game?"

Outside, the camp's fires flickered in the growing darkness, as though reflecting the uneasy tension that now gripped the Scoia'tael. Vaelas knew they would encounter the Witcher and his enigmatic companion again, it was only a matter of time. And when they did, he couldn't shake the feeling that nothing in their cause would remain the same.

…

The inn was a weathered building of warped wood and a sagging roof, tucked at the edge of a muddy road that wound through the dreary Velen countryside. The sign hanging over the entrance creaked in the wind, the faint letters spelling out "The Restful Stag." Inside, the atmosphere was slightly better—warmth radiated from the hearth, and the mingled smells of stale ale and roasting meat filled the air. It was a welcome change from the damp cold that had clung to them for days.

Veylan approached the innkeeper, a rotund man with a scruffy beard and suspicious eyes. His gaze flicked between Veylan's pale, scarred face and Erynn's unmistakable elven features as she lingered just behind him. Her presence drew a slight sneer from the innkeeper.

"Room for two," Veylan said, his voice low but firm, sliding a coin pouch onto the counter.

The innkeeper eyed it, his fingers hovering. "You'll pay extra for the elf," he grumbled. "Folk don't take kindly to her kind, and neither do I."

Erynn's lips tightened, but before she could retort, Veylan raised a hand, stopping her. He pulled another pouch from his belt, heavier than the first, and dropped it onto the counter. "Charge what you want. Just make sure the room is clean, and she gets what she deserves—the finest you've got."

The innkeeper snatched the pouch, weighing it before grunting his approval. "Upstairs. Last door on the right."

Veylan nodded, ignoring the curious and wary stares from the other patrons as he led Erynn up the creaky stairs. Once inside the room, they were met with simple yet comfortable accommodations. A sturdy bed covered in thick furs dominated the space, a small table and chair near the window offering a view of the muddy road below.

Erynn closed the door behind them, leaning against it as she let out a long sigh. "Finest accommodations," she echoed with a teasing smile. "You really know how to spoil a girl."

"After weeks on the road, you've earned it," Veylan replied, setting his weapons and armor down carefully by the wall. His tone was gruff, but the soft look he gave her betrayed the warmth behind his words.

Erynn moved toward him, her steps light and graceful despite her weariness. She placed her hands on his chest, tracing the worn fabric of his tunic. "You didn't have to pay extra," she said quietly, her emerald eyes meeting his. "But thank you. Truly."

Veylan cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "You deserve more than this. More than I can give. But for tonight, let me try."

Her smile deepened, and she reached up to kiss him gently, a gesture filled with tenderness that contrasted with the roughness of their lives. As the kiss lingered, the weariness of the road seemed to melt away, replaced by the warmth of each other's presence.

Erynn stepped back, her fingers moving to the clasp of her robes. She hesitated for a moment, her expression playful but tinged with vulnerability. "I suppose we should make the most of these 'finest accommodations,'" she said softly, her voice laced with humor.

Before Veylan could respond, she let the robes fall away, the fabric pooling silently around her feet. She stood before him, her fiery hair cascading over her bare shoulders, her beauty radiant even in the dim light of the room. Her smile returned, softer this time, as she moved toward the bed.

Veylan's breath hitched, his usually guarded expression breaking into something raw and unspoken. He followed her without a word, the unyielding mask he wore every day slipping away entirely.

As they lay together in the warmth of the furs, the world outside faded into nothing. The road, the battles, the endless danger, all of it ceased to matter in that moment. Their bodies moved as one, a shared rhythm of need and affection that was both gentle and unrelenting. The connection they forged, born of trust and love in a world that offered so little of either, carried them through the night.

…

The first light of dawn crept into the room, casting faint golden rays over the tangled furs and their intertwined forms. Erynn stirred first, her hand tracing idle patterns on Veylan's chest as she smiled to herself. They had faced countless hardships, but for a brief time, they had found solace.

"We should stay here forever," she whispered with a teasing grin, though her tone was wistful.

Veylan chuckled, his hand resting over hers. "Tempting. But the notice board downstairs has work with my name on it."

Erynn sighed dramatically, rolling onto her side. "Fine. Go chase monsters. Just don't forget to come back to me."

"I'll never forget my love," Veylan said, his voice steady with promise. He pulled her close for one last embrace before the day's challenges called them away from the brief reprieve they had carved out of the chaos of their lives.

…

The druid, an elderly man named Brennach, sat hunched over a cluttered workbench in his small workshop on the edge of the village. Shelves were lined with jars of dried herbs, preserved roots, and strange trinkets of bone and stone. The air was thick with the earthy smell of crushed leaves and bitter tinctures, mingled with the faint aroma of incense burning in a corner. His apprentice, a young herbalist named Ila, stood nearby, carefully grinding a bundle of dried wolfsbane with a mortar and pestle.

Their quiet work was interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps outside. The door creaked open, revealing a nervous villager with wide eyes and a face flushed from exertion.

"Master Brennach!" the man gasped. "There's a Witcher in the village. Saw him myself at the inn not an hour ago, white hair, cat eyes, the whole lot."

Brennach's head lifted slowly, his weathered face unreadable. "A Witcher?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble. "Here?"

The villager nodded, stepping inside and twisting his cap nervously in his hands. "Aye, one of them mutant sorts. Heard he's looking for work."

The druid exchanged a glance with Ila, who set the pestle down and wiped her hands on her apron. "If he's truly a Witcher," Ila said, her tone thoughtful, "he could help us with the nests."

Brennach rose to his feet, his staff clutched in one gnarled hand. "Indeed. We may have just found the solution to our troubles."

The small wooden bell above the workshop door jingled softly as Veylan stepped silver hair caught the light as he ducked slightly to clear the low doorframe, his piercing yellow-green eyes scanning the room.

Brennach straightened, leaning on his staff, while Ila froze mid-step, staring at the Witcher with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. Veylan's imposing presence filled the small space, medallion resting against his chest, faintly vibrating in the air thick with the hum of magic.

"You're the druid," Veylan said, his voice low and steady, his gaze briefly shifting to Ila. "And the herbalist, I presume. Heard you've got a Kikimora problem."

Brennach nodded, his expression grave. "Aye, that we do. They've been breeding in the swamps beyond the forest edge, near my grove. Their nests are growing in number, and they've grown bold enough to attack travelers and even stray too close to the village."

"Not just travelers," Ila added, stepping forward with crossed arms. "Their presence is poisoning the herbs we rely on. Wolfsbane, blowball, even honeysuckle, everything's tainted."

Veylan nodded, his sharp eyes narrowing. "Kikimoras don't breed that fast unless something's stirring them up. You know what's causing it?"

Brennach hesitated before speaking, his tone cautious. "I suspect it's the ley lines near the grove. They've been... restless. Unstable. The matriarch must be drawing energy from them, which would explain the nests spreading like wildfire."

"A matriarch," Veylan echoed, his tone flat. "You're lucky it hasn't burned the whole grove to the ground yet. They're territorial, but they're also smart enough to move when threatened. That complicates things."

Ila stepped closer, a small pouch of dried herbs in her hands. "You'll need saltpeter for bombs, won't you? We've got some stored here, but we'll need more herbs from the swamp to replenish our stock. If you could... collect them while you're out there-"

"I'll consider it," Veylan interrupted, glancing at the pouch she offered. "But Kikimoras first. I'll need to know exactly where these nests are and how many you've counted."

Brennach gestured to a hand-drawn map pinned to the wall, marked with crude circles around the swampy areas. "There are three nests we've identified, but the matriarch will likely be deeper in the marsh. You'll need to collapse the nests and drive her out, or kill her outright, if you can."

Veylan stepped closer, studying the map. "Three nests," he muttered, tracing the locations with a gloved finger. "I'll need more than just bombs for that. I'll craft some oil, enhanced insectoid, if you've got the ingredients. Anything else I should know?"

"One of the nests is perilously close to my grove," Brennach said gravely. "If it's destroyed improperly, the ley line energy might surge. That would make the matriarch even more dangerous."

Veylan glanced over his shoulder at the druid. "So, no mistakes. Got it." He stepped back, rolling the map carefully and tucking it into his belt. "I'll need a few hours to prepare. You'll have your swamp back by nightfall."

Brennach gave a slow nod, his piercing gaze meeting Veylan's. "You have my thanks, Witcher. If you succeed, you'll not only earn your pay but our goodwill. That's a rare thing in these parts."

Veylan smirked faintly. "Goodwill doesn't pay for repairs, but I'll take the thanks for now."

As he turned to leave, Ila called out, her voice softer this time. "Be careful. The swamps have claimed plenty of lives already."

Veylan paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "Kikimoras don't scare me," he said. "But I'll keep that in mind."

With that, he stepped out into the daylight, the soft jingle of the bell fading behind him as the door swung shut. The druid and his apprentice exchanged a glance, their worry evident.

"Let's hope he's as good as the legends say," Brennach murmured. Ila nodded silently, her gaze lingering on the door as the Witcher disappeared down the road, heading toward the danger that awaited in the of Form

…

The swamp was a twisted labyrinth of stagnant pools and gnarled trees, their roots jutting like skeletal hands from the murky water. Veylan crouched on the thick branch of a towering willow, his silver-gray hair damp from the swamp's heavy humidity. The faint stench of sulfur hung in the air, mingling with the coppery tang of blood from the Kikimora nests he'd already destroyed. His bombs, packed with nails and ignited with saltpeter, had turned the previous nests into shrapnel-filled infernos. But this—this was different.

The final nest wasn't just a tangled mass of swamp mud and decaying vegetation. It was a sprawling, pulsating hive, large enough to suggest the presence of a Kikimora Queen. She would be guarding her eggs, more intelligent and far more dangerous than her workers. The queen required more than brute force.

Veylan perched silently, his amber-green eyes scanning the ground below, where the queen's hulking form skittered among the roots. The creature was massive, nearly the size of a Nilfgaardian warhorse, with a hardened, chitinous exoskeleton that shimmered in the dim light. Her mandibles clicked rhythmically, her legs moving with a disturbing grace as she inspected her nest.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, focusing on the hybrid instincts embedded in his very being. Slowly, his pupils shifted, elongating into thin, insectoid slits. His vision transformed, a kaleidoscope of thermal signatures and motion trails now flooding his senses. He took a deep breath, willing his presence to blend seamlessly with the swamp's ambient noise. To the queen, he became nothing more than a shadow among the trees, his insectoid traits dulling her awareness of his presence.

Patience. This wasn't a fight to rush.

The Kikimora Queen shifted, her head tilting as if to listen for predators. Veylan waited until she turned, exposing the vulnerable seam at the base of her skull. Without hesitation, he released the branch and dropped, his silver sword flashing in the pale light.

The blade pierced the queen's head with a sickening crunch, sliding through chitin and into the soft tissue beneath. She shrieked, her legs spasming violently, but Veylan held firm, twisting the blade to maximize the damage. Her thrashing nearly threw him off, but with one fluid motion, he sliced downward, severing her head entirely. It tumbled to the ground with a heavy thud, ichor spilling out in thick, steaming rivulets.

Veylan landed deftly, his boots splashing into the muck as the lifeless body of the queen collapsed beside him. He didn't stop there. With his free hand, he castIgni, the blast of flame enhanced by the insectoid oil coating his sword. The fire seared through the remains of her neck stump, ensuring no regenerative properties could take hold.

Kneeling beside the corpse, he plunged his dagger into her chest cavity, carefully extracting her heart. It pulsed faintly, a grisly trophy but an invaluable alchemical ingredient. Satisfied, Veylan wiped his blade on the remnants of her exoskeleton before sheathing it.

Methodically, he worked his way through the battlefield, stripping the queen and the other fallen Kikimoras of their most valuable parts. He harvested venom sacs, chitin shards, and glands, carefully packing them into his satchel. The eggs scattered around the nest were next. He smashed them with deliberate strikes, ensuring no new spawn would plague the swamp again.

Among the roots of the nest, he found the herbs the druid had mentioned: wolfsbane, blowball, and a rare clump of crow's eye. These he tucked away, the task a small but satisfying addition to the completed contract.

As he finished his work, the hair on the back of his neck prickled. He rose slowly, scanning the treeline with his heightened senses. For a brief moment, his insectoid pupils returned, glowing faintly as they picked up subtle traces of movement.

Behind the distant canopy, figures watched. Scoia'tael. Their armor, blending with the shadows of the swamp, betrayed them to his keen vision. They were silent, motionless, but they had seen. They had seen his eyes.

Veylan's lips curled into a faint smirk, and with a flick of his cloak, he turned back toward the village. If they wanted to talk, or try their luck, they could find him there.

…

From their hidden perch, the Scoia'tael warriors exchanged uneasy glances.

"Did you see that?" one whispered, his voice barely audible. "His eyes… they changed. Like a Kikimora's."

Another, the same elf who had encountered Veylan on the road, frowned deeply. "I saw. That's no ordinary Witcher."

"But how?" the youngest among them pressed. "What kind of creature can do that?"

The leader, Vaelas, shook his head slowly. "Not a creature. A weapon." His eyes lingered on the spot where Veylan had disappeared into the swamp, a mixture of wariness and curiosity tightening his expression. "We'll follow him—for now. Whatever he is, he might be more than we bargained for."

…

The swamp had long since fallen quiet as Veylan trudged into the village, the weight of his spoils a testament to his success. The Kikimora Queen's massive, severed head hung by its thick, chitinous mandibles from a reinforced leather strap slung over his shoulder. Its lifeless eyes stared forward, a grotesque trophy that dripped ichor in slow, steady droplets onto the muddy path. His satchel bulged with harvested ingredients, the scent of swamp herbs mingling with the acrid tang of monster venom.

Brennach's workshop sat at the edge of the village, its lantern-lit windows a warm contrast to the grim, misty twilight. As Veylan approached, the door creaked open, revealing Ila, the apprentice herbalist. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of him and the monstrous head swinging at his side.

"You actually did it," she said, her voice tinged with awe. "The queen... is dead?"

"Dead," Veylan confirmed, his voice gravelly from exertion. He dropped the head onto the ground in front of her with a heavythud. "Here's your proof."

The druid, Brennach, emerged from behind a shelf lined with jars of preserved herbs and tinctures. His wrinkled face broke into a rare smile as he saw the gruesome trophy.

"You've outdone yourself, Witcher," Brennach said, his voice filled with genuine approval. He leaned on his staff, stepping closer to inspect the queen's head. "This... will keep the swamp quiet for years. The villagers will sleep soundly again."

Veylan unslung his satchel and began placing items on a nearby workbench with practiced efficiency. "Heart, venom sacs, chitin shards from the queen. Venom glands and some other useful parts from the workers. And as promised, the herbs you needed—wolfsbane, blowball, and a handful of crow's eye."

Ila stepped forward, her hands fluttering over the collection of ingredients with reverence. "This is more than we could have hoped for," she murmured, carefully lifting the heart and placing it into a ceramic jar. "With these... we can make potions, oils, and poultices that'll last us through the next season. You even brought back the crow's eye!"

"Didn't want to come back empty-handed for that part of the deal," Veylan said with a faint smirk, his golden-green eyes glinting in the lamplight.

Brennach reached into a wooden chest near the back of the room, retrieving a small pouch that jingled with the unmistakable sound of coin. He handed it to Veylan, his gnarled fingers curling over the Witcher's hand briefly. "This is for the contract. And... I owe you something more."

The druid gestured to a shelf where several vials of vibrant liquid glimmered under the light. "These are special. Alchemical concentrates I've refined over the years. You'll find them useful for enhancing your potions and oils. Consider them a token of thanks for ridding us of this plague."

Veylan took the vials without hesitation, tucking them into his satchel. "Appreciate it. The bombs needed to clear those nests cost me enough that I'll be making more before my next job."

Ila, who had been organizing the herbs with quick, deft hands, looked up with a shy smile. "It's more than a fair trade. What you've brought back will help more than you know."

Veylan inclined his head, the closest thing to a gracious acknowledgment he could muster. "Glad it'll be put to good use."

As Veylan turned to leave, Brennach spoke again, his tone more curious now. "One question, Witcher. The queen... how did you kill her?"

Veylan paused, glancing back over his shoulder. His face was inscrutable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, amusement, perhaps. "Carefully and quietly," he said simply, before stepping out into the night.

Once Veylan was gone, Ila turned to Brennach, with raised eyebrows. "Did you notice his eyes? When he walked in, they looked... different. Like they weren't just Witcher's eyes anymore."

Brennach nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "I saw. There's something unusual about him. Something... more."

"Do you think it's dangerous?" Ila asked hesitantly.

"Dangerous?" Brennach chuckled, though it carried no humor. "Everything about a Witcher is dangerous, child. But him? He's something else entirely. We'll leave it at that."

The door creaked shut behind them, and the workshop settled into the familiar rhythm of quiet preparation. Yet the air remained heavy with unspoken thoughts of the mysterious Witcher who had walked away into the night.

…

The door of the inn creaked open as Veylan stepped inside, the scent of woodsmoke and cheap ale mingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood clinging to him. The common room was dim, most of the patrons having already retired, leaving only the faint crackle of the dying hearth to accompany the muted sounds of the night.

Veylan's boots were heavy with swamp muck as he ascended the creaking stairs to their room. He pushed the door open to find the space bathed in the soft glow of a single candle. The faint flicker illuminated the familiar figure sprawled across the bed.

Erynn was waiting for him.

She lay there, wrapped loosely in a blanket, her fiery red hair spilling over the pillows like molten flame. Her emerald eyes sparkled with mischief as her lips curved into a slow, teasing smirk. The blanket shifted slightly, revealing the smooth curve of her shoulder, then more as she let it fall away, her gaze never leaving his.

"You're back," she said softly, her voice laced with warmth and invitation.

Veylan chuckled low, closing the door behind him and setting his gear aside with practiced ease. "You've been busy," he remarked, his tone playfully dry.

"Not nearly as busy as you," she replied, her smirk deepening. "But I thought I'd make it worth your while to come back."

Her hand reached out, beckoning him, her gaze smoldering with an unspoken promise. Veylan crossed the room in a few swift strides, his exhaustion melting away as he leaned over her, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that spoke more than words ever could. Her hands tangled in his damp hair, pulling him closer as the blanket slipped away completely.

Erynn looked up at him, her voice soft yet commanding. "No distractions now. You're mine."

His only response was a faint growl of agreement as he let himself fall into the moment, the weight of the day's battles forgotten in the warmth of her embrace. The room faded into silence save for the whispers of their shared breath and the occasional creak of the bed as they lost themselves in each other, the world outside irrelevant and far away.

For a time, there was no swamp, no monsters, no lurking dangers. Only them, together, finding solace in the midst of chaos.

…

The night was quiet, save for the soft clink of Eskel's swords as he walked through the muddy streets of the small village. The inn loomed ahead, its dimly lit sign swaying gently in the cool breeze. He had been on the road for days, hunting a pack of nekkers, and now all he wanted was a warm bed and a drink strong enough to take the edge off the aches in his muscles.

As he approached the inn, he caught the faint murmur of conversation from a pair of villagers huddled by a cart near the entrance. Their voices were low, but his sharp Witcher hearing picked up every word.

"Seriously? Another Witcher? One is bad enough... now we've got two?" one muttered, his tone dripping with unease.

Eskel raised an eyebrow, slowing his pace slightly.

His companion snorted, clearly less concerned. "Aye, and you know what's worse? Heard that blasted one inside paid extra—extra, mind you—for that elf of his to have the finest accommodations. The whole lot, apparently. Like some noble lord or something."

The first villager grunted, spitting into the dirt. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say they're getting too friendly."

The other laughed, a short, coarse bark. "Friendly? That's putting it lightly. Can't imagine what else a Witcher and an elf'd be doing, holed up together like that."

Eskel's lips twitched in faint amusement as he continued past them, their voices fading into the background. Another Witcher in the village? That was rare enough. But the rest of their gossip intrigued him. He stepped inside the inn, scanning the room with a quick, practiced glance.

The common room was sparsely populated, just a handful of tired travelers nursing their drinks. The innkeeper stood behind the bar, cleaning a tankard with a rag that was far from clean itself. Eskel approached, leaning his forearms on the counter.

"Room for the night?" he asked, his deep voice cutting through the quiet.

The innkeeper looked up, his expression tight as his eyes darted to the medallion around Eskel's neck. "Another one of you lot? What is it, a reunion? Fine, I've got a room, but I'll warn you now, it won't be as fine as the one your... friend's elf companion is enjoying."

Eskel raised an eyebrow. "Friend?"

The innkeeper huffed. "Silver-haired fellow with a bit of black in there. Paid a hefty coin to make sure his elf had the best. Extra for clean sheets, hot water, the works. Never seen one of your kind so generous before."

Eskel chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "Generous, huh? Sounds like I'll have to see this for myself."

After securing his room and tossing a few coins onto the counter, Eskel headed up the narrow wooden staircase, boots creaking on the worn planks. The innkeeper's words still lingered in his mind. Another Witcher, paying for an elf? Generous wasn't the word he'd use. Curious, maybe, reckless even, but generosity wasn't exactly common in their line of work.

As he walked down the dimly lit hallway, muffled sounds from one of the rooms caught his attention, soft laughter and low murmurs. It wasn't much, but his sharp ears picked up enough to raise an eyebrow.

The walls weren't thick, and soon enough, the laughter gave way to more... intimate sounds. A rhythmic creak of the bed. Breathy murmurs. Eskel's scarred lips tugged into a smirk.

"Well, someone's having a good time," he muttered to himself, amused. It wasn't every day you found another Witcher who apparently had no qualms about sharing a room, among other things, with an elf.

But then, his smirk faded.

His medallion, hanging loosely against his chest, began to hum. Faint at first, but the vibration quickly intensified until it rattled against his armor. Frowning, Eskel pulled it free, holding it in his gloved hand as it trembled wildly, as if in the presence of powerful magic.

"What in the..." he whispered, narrowing his eyes at the door where the noises were coming from. The medallion buzzed fiercely now, a low hum resonating in his ears, so strong it felt alive.

Before he could move closer, the noise from the room stopped abruptly, the laughter and murmurs replaced by silence. At the same time, his medallion fell still, as if the magic had been snuffed out in an instant. Eskel blinked, staring at the now motionless pendant in his hand.

He chuckled dryly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the wall. "Well, that's a first," he muttered under his breath. "Magic and... whatever the hell that was."

The smirk returned to his face, though his curiosity was far from sated. Whoever this Witcher was, and whoever he was with, Eskel was certain this wasn't just some romantic escapade. There was something else going on behind that door, something potent enough to rattle a Witcher medallion.

Sliding his medallion back under his armor, he pushed off the wall and headed to his room, muttering to himself as he went. "Guess I'll have to wait to see what all that's about... but damned if this doesn't sound like trouble."

Still, he couldn't quite suppress his amusement. It wasn't often he was surprised, and this new Witcher, whoever he was, had certainly managed it.

Eskel lay on the lumpy inn mattress, staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling. He had been on his back for what felt like hours, eyes half-closed, willing himself to sleep, but it refused to come. Every so often, the soft, rhythmic creaking of the bed next door, punctuated by muffled voices, would reach his ears, pulling him further away from any semblance of rest.

Then came the medallion.

It started with a faint hum, so quiet he might have dismissed it if it hadn't grown stronger. The medallion resting on the small bedside table began to tremble, vibrating against the wood. Eskel grunted and sat up, glaring at the offending object.

"What the hell..." he muttered, reaching out to still it, but as soon as his fingers brushed the pendant, it stilled on its own. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he lay back down, pulling the thin blanket over him.

But no sooner had he closed his eyes than it started again, this time with more intensity. The medallion rattled violently, rolling across the table and landing on the floor with a dullthunk.Eskel groaned, rubbing a hand over his face as he sat up again.

The noises from the next room were louder now. Grunts and gasps, rising in urgency, as the bed creaked rhythmically against the wall. Eskel shook his head, a tired smirk forming on his lips despite his irritation.

"Well, they're certainly enjoying themselves," he murmured, running a hand through his hair. "Could've picked a quieter inn for this, though."

He tried to ignore it, laying back down and rolling onto his side, but the medallion had other plans. Another sharp hum. Another rattle. This time, it rolled right under the bed. Eskel growled, reaching down to retrieve it, but as he did, something froze him in place.

A sound, low, guttural, and undeniably animalistic, came from the next room. A growl, deep and aggressive, followed by a solidthunkon the wall that shook his bedframe. Eskel's eyes widened as the growling intensified, rising and falling in a strange, almost rhythmic cadence.

"That's not normal," he muttered, sitting up fully now, his instincts on high alert. He knew the sounds of beasts, monsters, and everything in between. And those growls? They weren't just growls.

Kitsune.

Eskel's blood ran cold. He had heard stories of Kitsune growls, seductive, primal, and laced with power, but he'd never thought he'd hear them firsthand, let alone in an inn room next door.

The noises continued, escalating in both intensity and frequency. The bedframe in the next room struck the wall again, harder this time along with sounds that sounded like more growls.

Eskel stared at the rattling medallion in his hand, his mind racing. "Another Witcher, traveling with a Kitsune," he muttered, his voice low. "What the hell have I walked into?"

He leaned back against the headboard, watching the medallion as it finally calmed to a faint hum. The growling and snarling continued, muffled by the thin walls, but unmistakable. Eskel sighed heavily, rubbing his temples as the realization sank in.

"Well, I'm definitely not getting any sleep tonight."

…

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of the inn, casting golden beams across the hallway. Erynn's melodic laughter echoed softly as the door to their room swung open. She stepped out first, her fiery red hair glowing in the morning light, her cheeks flushed and her emerald eyes bright. Veylan followed, adjusting the straps of his satchel, his chimera medallion resting against his chest, glinting faintly. His expression was calm, but there was an unmistakable softness in his eyes when he glanced at her.

Erynn leaned into him, giggling as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I don't think the innkeeper quite knew what to do with us," she said playfully, her voice low enough to be for his ears alone. Veylan smirked faintly, his hand resting at her back as they started down the hall.

They didn't get far.

Eskel stood outside his room, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe. His sharp eyes flicked between the pair as they approached. There was amusement in his gaze, but also curiosity, and something else. His medallion hung loosely from his neck, swaying slightly as he stood to his full height, barring their path.

"Good morning," Eskel greeted, his voice dry, though a faint smirk tugged at the corners of his scarred face. "I'd say you two had a... productive night." His eyes lingered briefly on Veylan's medallion. "Though I've got to admit, I'm more curious about you, Witcher. That medallion of yours, it doesn't belong to any school I know. Chimera, is it?"

Veylan met Eskel's gaze evenly, his posture relaxed but guarded. "Chimera, yes," he confirmed, his tone steady but offering little more.

Eskel tilted his head, his curiosity deepening. "Not every day I run into another Witcher. And even rarer to find one with... unique company." His gaze shifted to Erynn, who smiled sweetly, her expression innocent but her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You don't see many Witchers traveling with Kitsunes, let alone... companions."

Erynn giggled softly, leaning slightly against Veylan as his arm instinctively slid around her waist. "You're not wrong," she said lightly. "But our story is... special."

Eskel raised an eyebrow. "I'd imagine so. Care to share how a Witcher and a Kitsune ended up... so close?"

Veylan exchanged a glance with Erynn, who gave him a playful nudge. "Go on," she teased. "Tell him how we met. It's a good story."

The faintest smile touched Veylan's lips as he began. "A few years ago, I was passing through some old ruins near Kaedwen in the dead of winter. Found her there—injured, in her fox form. She'd gotten her leg caught in some trap, bleeding and freezing to death."

"You felt bad for me," Erynn interjected with a soft laugh, her emerald eyes shining as she looked up at him. "And he took pity on the poor, helpless fox."

Veylan smirked slightly. "More or less. I helped nurse her back to health, kept her warm." He paused, glancing at her with a look that was both affectionate and teasing. "In more ways than one."

Erynn laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. "Well, you were very... attentive," she added with a wink.

Veylan continued, his voice softening as his gaze rested on her. "Eventually, we started growing fond of each other. Took a while, but we figured it out. Now we're lovers. Companions."

Eskel let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a wry grin. "That's... a story, alright. Didn't peg you for the nurturing type, Witcher."

"Don't let it fool you," Veylan replied with a faint smirk. "She's the real troublemaker."

Erynn gave a mock gasp, swatting his arm playfully. "Me? Trouble? I'm the reason you survive half the time!"

Eskel chuckled, leaning back against the wall. "Well, I've got to hand it to you both, your pairing's... unconventional, to say the least. But it seems to work."

"It does," Veylan said simply, his arm tightening around Erynn as they exchanged a brief, knowing look.

Eskel studied them for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on the medallion before shifting back to Veylan. "We'll have to talk about that medallion of yours later. I've got a feeling your story runs deeper than what you've told me."

Veylan's expression hardened slightly, but he nodded. "Another time. Right now, we've got somewhere to be."

Erynn smiled warmly, tugging at Veylan's arm. "And breakfast, I hope. I'm starving."

Eskel stepped aside with a bemused shake of his head, watching as the pair made their way down the hall. "Witchers and Kitsunes," he muttered to himself, the faintest hint of a smile on his scarred face. "What's the world coming to?"

…

The inn's common room was already buzzing with the low murmur of conversation when Veylan and Erynn stepped down from the staircase. The morning light streamed weakly through the smudged windows, illuminating the tables where villagers huddled over steaming bowls of porridge and thick slices of bread. Despite the humble surroundings, Veylan's sharp senses picked up the faint shift in the room's atmosphere the moment they entered. Heads turned. Conversations hushed.

They found a quiet corner near the hearth, Erynn smiling faintly as she adjusted her cloak, her fiery red hair catching the light like embers. Veylan sat across from her, leaning back in his chair as he caught the wary glances cast their way. The innkeeper shuffled over reluctantly, setting down two bowls of stew with an audible clatter.

"Anything else?" the innkeeper asked, his eyes avoiding Erynn's. The man's tone was curt, his posture stiff, as though he were doing them a favor by serving them at all.

"No," Veylan replied, his tone clipped as he tossed a coin onto the table. The innkeeper snatched it up quickly, retreating without another word.

Erynn let out a soft sigh, stirring her stew. "I'd forgotten how welcoming humans can be," she murmured, her voice tinged with dry humor.

"You'd think they'd get used to seeing a Witcher by now," Veylan replied, his gaze sweeping the room. "But an elf..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

Before Erynn could respond, a heavy-set man at a nearby table pushed back his chair with a loud scrape. His two companions followed suit, their movements deliberate as they approached. Veylan's golden-green eyes flicked to them, his muscles tensing instinctively.

The leader, a middle-aged man with a thick beard and a crude leather vest, stopped a few feet from their table, crossing his arms. His companions—one tall and wiry, the other stocky and sullen—flanked him like dogs waiting for a command.

"Strange seeing the two of you here," the bearded man said, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of the other patrons. "A Witcher and an elf, sitting nice and cozy, like you belong here."

Veylan didn't respond, his gaze locked on the man with a cold intensity. Erynn set down her spoon, her smile fading as she glanced between them.

The man sneered, his gaze shifting to Erynn. "You don't belong here, elf. None of your kind does. And you," he said, turning back to Veylan, "ought to know better than to bring her into a decent place like this. You Witchers think you're above the rules, don't you?"

Veylan remained silent, his hand resting on the edge of the table, fingers curling slightly. The stocky man stepped forward, emboldened by the lack of response. "We don't take kindly to her kind, Witcher. So, why don't you take your 'friend' and get out before things get unpleasant?"

The tension in the room wasapparent at this point. Erynn's eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as she opened her mouth to respond, but Veylan raised a hand, stopping her. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing as he looked up at the men.

For a moment, his hybrid instincts clawed at the surface. It would be so easy to end this, to let his monster side loose, to show them exactly what they were dealing with. But instead, he took a slow breath, forcing the beast back into its cage. For her sake.

Without a word, he reached into his pouch and pulled out a handful of coins, dropping them onto the table. The clink of metal was loud in the tense silence. He stood, pushing his chair back with deliberate calm, and extended a hand to Erynn.

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the men, but when she saw the subtle shake of Veylan's head, she relented. Rising gracefully, she took his hand. The two turned and walked toward the door, the murmurs of the room following them.

The bearded man called after them, his voice tinged with mockery. "That's right, Witcher. Run along with your little elf. Maybe find someplace where monsters like you are welcome."

Veylan stopped just inside the doorway, his back to the room. His hand tightened slightly around Erynn's, but he didn't turn around. "You'll want to choose your words more carefully," he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that silenced the room. "Next time, I might not be in such a good mood."

Without another word, he stepped outside, guiding Erynn into the cool morning air.

…

They walked in silence for a moment, the tension of the encounter lingering like a shadow. Erynn glanced at him, her expression unreadable.

"You didn't have to let them get away with that," she said softly. "I could have-"

"I know," Veylan interrupted, his tonekind. "But they're not worth it. Not today."

She smiled faintly, her fingers tightening around his. "Thank you," she said after a moment. "For keeping your patience. For me."

Veylan glanced down at her, the corner of his mouth twitching in the ghost of a smile. "It's not patience, Erynn. It's knowing what matters. And you matter more than they ever will."

Her laughter was soft but genuine as they walked on, leaving the inn and its occupants far behind. But in Veylan's mind, the encounter burned. He knew it wouldn't be the last time they faced this kind of hostility. And next time, he wasn't sure his patience would hold.

The wagon creaked as Veylan guided it carefully into the stables. The low murmur of village life beyond the wooden walls faded to quiet, save for the horses' restless snorts and the scrape of hooves against hay-strewn floors.

Erynn slipped down from the cart with practiced grace, her crimson cloak swirling as she landed lightly. Her fox-like eyes scanned the dim stable, lingering on a stablehand, a wiry boy no older than sixteen who froze mid-motion, startled by her presence.

"Easy there," Erynn said softly, her voice melodic yet sharp with authority. "You'd think you've never seen an elf before."

The boy flushed, stammering, "S-sorry, miss. It's just... unusual." His gaze flickered warily to Veylan as he led their horses forward. The silver and dark haired Witcher loomed in the shadows, inspecting the mounts with quiet intensity. The boy's voice dropped. "Haven't seen the like of you either."

Veylan crouched beside a wheel, running a hand over the wagon's axle. "What about the wagon?" he asked, ignoring the boy's comment. "It's holding together?"

"Aye, but the front wheel's loose. Needs reinforcing," the boy replied, kneeling beside him. "And those horseshoes are near worn down. Give me an hour, and they'll be as good as new."

Erynn stood back, leaning lightly against a post. "We'll wait," she said with a faint smile. "The horses deserve some rest anyway."

Outside, unseen eyes tracked every movement. Hidden just beyond the stables, cloaked figures crouched low amidst the foliage. Vaelas, the elf from earlier, peered through a gap in the timber wall, his amber eyes narrowing as he watched the pair.

"Still no sign of what she really is?" one scout murmured beside him.

Vaelas shook his head, voice tight with unease. "She's Aen Seidhe, but different. And the Witcher... I saw his eyes again. Red as blood. He's not normal."

"Do we act now?" the scout pressed.

Vaelas hesitated, his gaze lingering on Erynn as she laughed softly, firelight from a lantern catching the copper-red of her hair. "No. We watch. Whatever they are, they're powerful. And trouble will follow them."

The stable doors swung open with a creak, and a broad-shouldered man stepped through, wiping grime-stained hands on his apron. His lined face broke into a cautious smile.

"You're Witchers, aye?" he asked, his voice gravelly. "Or at least... close enough."

Veylan rose from his crouch, dusting off his gloves. "Depends on who's asking."

"Name's Harad," the man said, crossing his arms. "I'll get your wagon and beasts ready, but I'll make you an offer, too. There's been... trouble in the woods nearby. Elven curses, they say. Folk traveling the road vanish. I've seen their wagon tracks disappear into thin air, like the forest swallows them whole."

Erynn's eyebrows raised in surprise, and she stepped forward. "An elven curse? Are you certain?"

Harad nodded. "The baron, 'Bloody Baron,' they call him, says he's too busy to send his men out. Monsters and worse are already bleeding him dry. But my brother's family lives in the next village in velen, and they're terrified. You clear the road, and the Baron's likely to reward you handsomely, too."

Erynn turned to Veylan, her expression thoughtful. "We can't ignore this. If it's an old elven curse, I should be able to sense it, and we're close."

Veylan let out a low grunt, his amber-green eyes narrowing. "We'll investigate it. The horseshoes need time anyway."

Harad let out a sigh of relief. "Good. The woods are less than fifty paces beyond the stables. If anyone can deal with it, it's you lot."

As they moved toward the treeline, Veylan checked his swords while Erynn ran her fingers through the air, murmuring something in Elder Speech. A faint, shimmering light pulsed in her palms, flickering like foxfire.

"Something's out there," she murmured, her voice distant. "Ancient magic, but fractured..."

Veylan tightened his grip on his hilt, the faint hum of his medallion growing louder. "Then let's find it."

From the shadows, the Scoia'tael scouts watched them disappear into the mist-laden woods, unease written across their faces.

"Whatever they are," Vaelas whispered, "they're walking straight into a curse that may swallow them whole."

….

The forest grew unnaturally still as they entered the glade. Trees loomed close, their roots curling through the earth like skeletal fingers. Veylan's medallion hummed with an intensity that sent vibrations across his chest. This place was old, older than he'd expected. Magic seeped through the air, thick and stifling, tingling across his skin.

Erynn stepped ahead, her crimson cloak catching faint streaks of pale light that filtered through the canopy. Her fox-like eyes narrowed as she scanned the clearing, her gaze locking on two massive oaks at the center.

"Look," she said, pointing.

Veylan followed her hand. Carved into the blackened bark of the twin trees were words, ancient, but unmistakable. The inscriptions were uneven, as though chiseled hastily with a trembling hand. Erynn's fingers traced one of the trees, her voice soft as she whispered the words aloud, the language rolling off her tongue inElder Speech.

…

"Eldaine mór caelm, Leth aen'evon.

Forlorn and torn, a soul weeps in shadow.

I shall wait by roots and stone,

For my beloved, whose heart I cannot hold."

…

Veylan approached the other oak, the second inscription more jagged, its letters etched with brute force rather than grace. His voice rumbled low as he translated.

…

"By roots entwined, my love was taken.
Though flesh fades, our bond shall endure.
In all lands, across all time,
I shall wait, though earth keeps her from me."

…

Erynn raised an eyebrow. "Two lovers, one elven, one human. Separated, buried apart... and forgotten." She turned to look at the trees, her eyes filled with both sadness and understanding. "Their grief anchored itself here. The forest became their tomb, and their sorrow... a curse."

Veylan straightened, his golden-green eyes narrowing. "And it drags wagons and travelers into the earth as punishment. No one else can cross what they were denied."

Erynn nodded, brushing her fingertips across the oaken bark. "To end it... we must reunite their remains. Together in a single grave."

"And the kiss?" Veylan arched a brow, his tone gruff but tinged with irony.

"The curse demands what was denied them: an act of true love." Erynn smiled faintly, though her voice was soft with sorrow. "It's cruel, in a way. A simple thing, but no one could give it."

Veylan grunted, already scanning the ground. "Then let's give the forest what it wants."

They split up, Veylan heading to the base of the human's oak while Erynn approached the elven tree. The clearing shivered in protest as they neared the roots, the forest groaning like a living thing trying to keep its secrets buried.

Veylan knelt, pressing his palm to the earth. His veins pulsed dark beneath his skin, twisting and spreading like roots with each beat of his leshen inside him stirred, rising from its slumber as he whispered, his voice deep and guttural, "Release them."

The roots beneath his fingers resisted, curling tighter as though refusing his command. Veylan's muscles tensed, his breathing ragged as his veins blackened further, twisting into faint, glowing tendrils. For a moment, his face shifted, his skin pale and etched with faint lines like bark, and his eyes gleaming a deep, mossy green.

On the other side of the clearing, Erynn's magic at her fingertips, illuminating the twisted bark with silvery light. Her voice sang inElder Speech, commanding the forest's magic to yield.

"Erynn!" Veylan's voice growled across the glade, strained but clear. "Hold the roots open! I'll force them out."

Erynn's arms trembled as she extended her magic, anchoring the roots that fought to curl back over the bones. "Now!" she shouted, her voice sharp with effort.

With a roar that sounded half-human, half-feral, Veylan wrenched his hands through the earth. Roots snapped like bone as the ground cracked open. A set of brittle, yellowed human bones surfaced, tangled in black tendrils. At the same moment, across the clearing,Erynn's foxfire lifted the elven remains gently from the earth, cradling them in shimmering silver light.

Veylan's shoulders heaved as the roots at his arms withdrew, the black veins fading from his skin. He stared down at the skeleton before him, his expression unreadable.

"Together," Erynn said, moving to his side, her magic carrying the elven remains with her.

Veylan rose, carrying the human bones carefully in his arms. "Let's end this."

The earth trembled as they placed the bones side by side at the center of the clearing, between the two great oaks. Erynn moved gracefully, whispering words of burial in Elder Speech as she knelt, drawing symbols of peace into the soil with her fingers. Veylan stood beside her, silent, his gaze fixed on the remains.

A wind stirred, low and mournful, curling through the clearing like a grieving spirit. The roots of the oaks shivered, shifting toward one another as though yearning to be joined.

Erynn finished the final symbol, her voice soft. "Be free, lovers, where sorrow bound you." She turned to Veylan, her emerald eyes searching his. "Now... the kiss."

Veylan blinked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the gravity of the moment. "The forest really doesn't ask for much."

Erynn chuckled softly, though her expression was earnest as she stepped closer. "Don't make me wait forever, Veylan."

Her fingers brushed his cheek, and he tilted his head toward her touch. The glade fell silent as they stood over the reunited bones, the forest holding its breath. Veylan leaned in, his arms sliding around her waist as their lips met, a kiss that was gentle, unhurried, but filled with unspoken promises.

Magic surged through the clearing. The oaks groaned, their roots twisting together beneath the earth as if the trees themselves sighed in relief. A faint, golden glow erupted from the ground where the bones lay, spreading outward in soft waves. The forest trembled one last time before settling into stillness.

Erynn pulled back slightly, her gaze meeting Veylan's. "It's done," she whispered.

The glow faded, leaving behind anew grave, the earth undisturbed and peaceful. The two oaks, once separate, now leaned together, their branches intertwining to form a heart-shaped canopy above.

From nowhere, a voice, soft, ethereal, and filled with relief, whispered through the air.
"Together at last, beyond shadow and time..."

Veylan stood for a moment, his sharp eyes lingering on the grave. The forest felt... different. The weight that had hung in the air was gone, replaced by a serene stillness.

Erynn slipped her hand into his, breaking the silence. "They're free now."

Veylan nodded, his voice low. "And the forest will stop pulling wagons into the dirt."

She laughed softly, leaning her head against his arm as they turned to leave. "You know, you're not bad at this whole 'true love' thing."

Veylan snorted, a faint smirk on his lips. "Don't let it go to your head."

As they walked back toward the edge of the clearing, sunlight pierced through the canopy for the first time, painting the twisted roots and branches in streaks of gold. Behind them, the oaks stood tall, their branches whispering softly in the wind.

…

Hidden among the gnarled underbrush at the clearing's edge,Vaelasand his scouts crouched low, their cloaks blending seamlessly with the twisted forest shadows. Their amber eyes tracked every movement of the Witcher and his elven companion, though what they witnessed defied everything they thought they knew.

"This isn't normal," whispered one of the younger scouts, his voice wavering as he stared at the pair in the clearing. "What are they doing?"

Vaelas raised a hand to silence him, his sharp gaze fixed on the Witcher. "Quiet. Watch."

At first, it was strange enough to see the Witcher kneeling before the earth, pressing his hand against it like some druid coaxing secrets from the forest. The Scoia'tael had seen his kind before, hunters, killers of beasts, mutants created by humans to destroy. But this was something else. This was... communion.

"Leth'aen," one of the scouts whispered hoarsely. "Is he...becominga leshen?"

Vaelas didn't answer. He couldn't. He stared in disbelief as the Witcher's golden eyes turned dark, a mossy green with slit pupils that gleamed like a predator's. For a moment, the Witcher was no longer a man, but aforest spirit given form, something ancient and terrible stirring within him.

Veylan growled, a sound that was low, primal, and unmistakably unnatural. The roots beneath his handsmoved, responding to his command. The earth split open with a wrenching crack, and the roots curled like massive serpents, thrashing and snapping before peeling back to revealbones entangled in their grasp.

On the opposite side of the clearing, the Witcher's companion, a fiery-haired Aen Seidhe who could only be described as otherworldly, commanded foxfire with an elegance that bordered on grace. Her voice, soft yet powerful, woveElder Speechthrough the air, calming the forest's fury as silver light poured from her hands.

Vaelas felt the hairs on his neck rise. "An elven sorceress," he muttered. "No... not just that."

Her magic danced, coaxing another set of bones from the earth with a gentleness that contrasted with the Witcher's violent, feral power. Together, they moved like two sides of the same coin, destruction and restoration, beast and spirit, Witcher and Kitsune.

But it washimthat held their attention.

The younger scouts fidgeted, their faces pale. "Whatishe?" one of them hissed. "He looks like a-"

"Like a leshen," Vaelas cut in, his voice tight, though his tone held more dread than anger. "But he's a Witcher."

The clearing grew louder. The trees groaned and protested as Veylan strained, his transformed veins glowing brighter, his growl reverberating through the air. For one chilling moment, it seemed as thoughthe Witcher might lose himself entirely, that the leshen inside him would take over. But then, just as quickly as it began, the glow faded.

Veylan straightened, his skin slowly returning to its normal pale, scarred hue. His eyes flickered golden again as the leshen essence ebbed, retreating into whatever dark corner of his being it came from. The transformation was gone, but the memory of it remained, etched into the minds of the Scoia'tael like a scar.

They didn't know what to make of it when the Witcher and his companion carefully placed the bones, human and elven, side by side. The moment that followed seemed surreal, an echo of something both ancient and beautiful.

"A kiss," Vaelas whispered, as if trying to convince himself of what he was seeing. "The curse... it's demanding the simplest of things."

The two kissed, a pure act, deliberate and gentle. Light burst from the earth where the bones lay, and the forest trembled as if releasing a breath it had held for withdrew, branches stilled, and the unnatural weight that had settled on the clearing lifted.

The two great oaks shifted, their trunks creaking as their roots curled together beneath the earth. Their branches stretched upward, intertwining to form an unmistakable heart-shaped canopy. A soft voice echoed through the air, barely more than a whisper:"Together at last, beyond shadow and time..."

The Scoia'tael scouts remained frozen, staring as the Witcher and the sorceress turned toward the treeline, preparing to leave.

One of the younger scouts finally broke the silence, his voice trembling. "What did we just see?"

Vaelas didn't answer immediately. His amber eyes lingered on the Witcher, whose broad shoulders carried an almost unnatural 'd wielded a leshen's power, become one with the roots of the forest, and yet he walked away, unchanged, as though it had cost him nothing.

At last, Vaelas spoke, his voice low and laced with unease. "That was no ordinary Witcher. Whatever they are, whoever they are, this world's not ready for them."

"They broke the curse," another scout said, almost defensively, as though trying to reassure himself. "They freed the forest."

Vaelas nodded slowly, though his gaze remained fixed on the Witcher disappearing into the trees, his crimson-haired companion at his side. "Maybe they did. But you saw him." He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The forest obeyed him. For a moment, hewasa leshen."

He turned to his scouts, his expression grave. "Mark my words: that man is no monster slayer. He's a monster wearing a Witcher's face."

The forest remained quiet, the clearing bathed in golden light, but the Scoia'tael left with their hearts uneasy and their minds filled with questions.

And Vaelas knew, this would not be the last time they crossed paths withVeylan the Chimera.

…

The air inside theScoia'tael war tentwas stifling, thick with woodsmoke and tension. A ragged oil lamp cast dim light over a worn table scattered with hand-drawn maps, lists of supply routes, and plans for future mander Caelir, his sharp, battle-hardened features set in stone, stood with arms crossed, his piercing green eyes fixed onVaelasas he and his scouts knelt before him.

"You dragged me from strategy council forthis?" Caelir's voice cut through the smoky air like a blade. "A Witcher... playing druid in some forgotten grove?"

Vaelas kept his head low, though his jaw tightened. "It wasn'tjusta Witcher, Commander."

Caelir narrowed his eyes. "Explain."

Vaelas rose slowly, forcing himself to meet his commander's gaze despite the unease crawling under his skin. "We followed him as ordered, him and the elven sorceress he travels with." He hesitated, the memory ofVeylan's transformationflashing vividly in his mind. "We witnessed... something unnatural."

"Unnatural how?" Caelir pressed, his expression unreadable.

Vaelas's voice dropped to a tight, measured cadence. "The Witcher... hechanged. We saw him wrest control of the forest itself, as though he commanded the roots and earth like a leshen."

Gasps rippled through the room, several officers exchanging uneasy .The name carried weight, invoking ancient terror.

Caelir's face darkened, though he said nothing, allowing Vaelas to continue.

"It wasn't justmagic, Commander. Hisbody changed." Vaelas stepped closer to the table, his gloved hand trembling despite himself. "His veins... they turnedblack, crawling across his skin like living roots. His eyes... they went from Witcher's gold to somethingelse, a moss-green with slits, like a predator's."

One officer,Captain Aeliryn, sneered skeptically. "Illusions, perhaps? A trick by the sorceress-"

"No," Vaelas snapped. "I know magic when I see it. This was became the a moment, I thought... I thought hewasa leshen, wearing a man's face."

Caelir frowned, slowly circling the table. "A Witcher becoming... a monster?" His voice was skeptical but cautious. "You're suggesting somethingimpossible, Vaelas."

Vaelas clenched his fists, pushing down his frustration. "It gets worse."

The tent grew silent as he continued.

"Remember theKikimora Queenattack last moon? The one thatwas in the druids groves where they collected herbs? He paused, forcing himself to breathe steadily. "We tracked him after the swamp fight. I saw him there... after hekilledthe queen." His amber eyes burned with remembered fear. "Hiseyes turned aKikimora's."

The room exploded into murmurs, a wave of disbelief washing over the gathered officers.

Aeliryn spat in disgust. "Nonsense. Witchers fight monsters, they don'tbecomethem."

"You didn't see it." Vaelas's voice was tight with fury, his fingers trembling. "I did. His eyes burned like something out of a nightmare, dark yellow, with multiple iris's, sharp... hungry." His words hung heavily in the still air, coated with the weight of bitter truth.

Caelir raised a hand, silencing the growing chaos. "Enough." His voice was ice-cold. His sharp mind calculated every possibility with deadly precision. "You believe this Witcher isn't... fully human."

"No," Vaelas said hoarsely, his breath ragged. "He'snot just a 's...something more." He leaned forward, voice low, almost fearful. "What if he's a...hybrid?"

The room fell still.

Vaelas pressed on, dread seeping into his tone. "Leshen... Kikimora... and maybe more. He fights like a Witcher, but hebecomesthe monsters he hunts."

"Impossible," Aeliryn hissed, though his voice faltered. "There's no magic powerful enough-"

"Not magic." Vaelas's gaze darkened, his voice almost a whisper. "Alchemy.Forbidden experiments."

Caelir's face twisted with disgust, though not at Vaelas, at the implications. Hehad heard whispersof Nilfgaardian mages and outlaw alchemists performing twisted experiments deep in the south, warping magic, life, and death itself. It seemed distant then... but now?

"What about the sorceress?" Caelir demanded abruptly.

Vaelas straightened. "Shefights for mands spirits, manipulates magic like a true-born Aen Seidhe... but she's loyal called him by name, Veylan."

Caelir's eyes narrowed, filing the name away.

"This Veylan..." He turned slowly toward the gathered officers. "He isn't just some rogue Witcher or wandering sorceress's pet."

"He's aweapon," Vaelas said grimly. "One made frommonsters."

Caelir tapped the hilt of his curved blade thoughtfully. "A creature like that... walking the Continent... unchecked?"

His eyes burned with cold resolve.

"Keep tracking them." His voice was steel. "Learneverythingyou can, butdo not he can control forests andkill a Kikimora Queenlikethat..."

He paused, his next words falling like a death sentence:

"We'll needmorethan scouts when we confrontVeylan the Chimera."

The gathered officers nodded grimly, already moving to relay the orders.

Vaelas lingered for a moment, his mind still haunted by the memory of Veylan'stwisted veins, red eyes, and feral that man was... he hadcrossed the line between man and beast.

Andno one, not even the Scoia'tael, would ever be prepared for what they would face next.

…

The wooden gates of thevillage stablescreaked as Veylan and Erynn guided their horses back, their gear still damp from the misty woods. The scent of swamp herbs clung faintly to Veylan's cloak, while Erynn's foxfire energy still lingered faintly in the air around her.

Master Brennach and his apprentice,Ila, awaited them, both visibly relieved. TheKikimora Queen's headsat where Veylan had left it though now it was prepared to be put on a wall, a grotesque testament to the battle that had freed the village from the swamp's grasp.

Brennach approached with a weathered smile. "We owe you more than thanks, Witcher." His sharp gaze flicked between them. "The forest... it happened?"

Veylan's expression remained calm, though he exchanged a glance with Erynn. She nodded subtly, signaling for him to speak.

"There was... an ancient curse," Veylan began. "Two lovers, buried apart... bound by grief. The forest itself punished anyone who crossed its domain."

"They were elven and human," Erynn added softly. "Separated in death, as in life... until we set them free."

Brennach's eyes widened, his voice reverent. "The oaks, did you..."

"We reunited them," Veylan confirmed. "Gave them the peace they'd been denied." His tone was oddly cheerful. "It required... something personal. A price of sorts though not a bad one. Magicalwaysdoes, though this time it was no issue."

Erynn's fingers brushed Veylan's hand briefly, grounding him. "It's over now. The forest should remain quiet... unless someone disturbs the grave again."

Brennach nodded slowly, his voice more steady. "You've earned more than gold. Wait here."

He disappeared into the depths of his alchemical workshop, returning moments later with twocarefully chosen gifts.

He handed Veylan's reward first.

Pouch of Rare Alchemical Concentrates, refined oils, toxin purifiers, and explosive bases for Witcher potions and bombs.

Sturdy Leather Pack:Designed for long hunts, enchanted with minor durability runes.

Then he turned to Erynn.

Handcrafted Elven Ritual Oils & Perfume:Scented with wildflowers and silverwood resin, perfect for ceremonial use.

Alchemical Herb Kit:Freshmoonbell, crow's eye, and spiritbane roots, rare components crucial for elven rituals and charms.

Ila added shyly, "We... didn't know what you'd need exactly, but we wanted to show our thanks."

Erynn's smile softened as she gently accepted the herbs, her fingers tracing the engraved bottles. "These are... perfect. Thank you."

Veylan inclined his head respectfully. "They'll be put to use."

With their rewards secured and farewells exchanged, Veylan and Erynn returned to , Veylan's midnight-black mare,snorted impatiently, whileAshbloom, Erynn's silvery-grey gelding, pawed at the damp ground.

Veylan adjusted therein strapswith practiced ease, ensuring thesatchel strapswere secured against Nimrael's saddle. HisChimera medalliongleamed faintly, resonating softly against his chest, asilent warningthat Velen'sdark mysteriesstill waited.

Erynn gently stroked Ashbloom's neck, murmuring anelven blessingas she mounted. "You sure about Velen?" she teased lightly, masking her wariness. "Nothing butcurses and warlordsdown that way."

Veylan smirked faintly, mounting Nimrael in one smooth motion. "Curses pay well. And I've gotyou,after all."

The two shared a brief, knowing look before nudging their horses forward, the wind carrying the distant cries ofcrowsfrom Velen'stwisted woodsahead.