The Witcher: Chimera
Chapter 2: The Bloody Baron and The Botchling
…
The village ofWillow's Hollowsat at the edge of Velen's darkened wood, itsweathered cottageshuddled together like frightened children beneath the twisted canopy. The scent ofdamp earthandburning peatclung to the air, whilecrows circledabove in restless -stained chimneyspuffed faint trails into the leaden sky.
Veylan guidedNimrael, his midnight-black mare, toward the village's oldabandoned forester's lodge, asturdy cabinhalf-claimed by moss and tangled ivy. Itsstone foundationstill stood firm, though the thatched roof sagged slightly under years of neglect. Beside it lay aweather-beaten stable, enough to shelter their twohorses.
Erynn, mounted onAshbloom, studied the structure withcritical, calculating eyes."It'll need work," she murmured, "but thegrove beyondis perfect forrituals."
Veylan dismounted with practiced ease, hisChimera medallionhumming faintly as he surveyed the tree line. The forestwatched, ancient and still. "Quiet," he muttered, more to himself. "For now."
The villagers ofWillow's Hollowweresilent and watchful, exchanging wary glances as they led their horses into theovergrown in their wake:
"Witcher..."
"Mutant... and an elf... strange company."
ThePellar, astooped old manadorned withcharms of feathers and bones, emerged from the forest path,sharp eyes gleamingwith recognition.
"Aen Seidhe blood... and a soul tied to monsters... yet not one." His voice rasped like old parchment. "Fate weaves strangely here."
Erynn inclined her head respectfully, slipping intoElder Speech."We seek only peace and shelter. We mean no harm."
The Pellar nodded slowly. "The land knows truth when it hears it. The house is yours. Tread lightly... for the woods listen."
That night, as theautumn windwhispered through the darkened trees,Erynn prepared for Saovín, theNight of Veils.
Thesmall hearthcrackled warmly inside theforester's lodge, casting faint light overritual candlesandherbs laid in careful 's leather armorhung near the door, still slick with swamp mud.
Erynn, now cloaked in a flowingceremonial robe of deep crimson, tracedrunes of wardingalong the cabin's windows withspirit-ink, murmuring softprayers in Elder lightglowed softly at her fingertips.
Veylan entered quietly, carrying abundle of wolfsbane, crow's eye, and spiritbane presence filled the room, steady, grounding.
"You forgot these," he said, setting the herbs carefully on herritual table.
Erynn smiled faintly, touching his hand. "Thank you."
"Anything else?" he asked, rolling back his sleeves. His tone wasgruff, but she knew it was his way of offering more than just help, his trust.
"Yes..." she replied softly."The fire outside."
Veylanbuilt a toweringstone-ringed bonfirenear the forest's edge. Theflickering flamescastdancing shadowsacross the gnarled trees asErynn sang in Elder Speech, weaving a melody thatechoed through the woodslike a forgotten memory.
She scatteredblessed herbsinto theflames, her voicecalling to the spiritswho might still wander lost:
"Spirits forgotten, hear our song...
Return not in wrath, but in peace."
…
WhileErynn's incantationscontinued,Veylan stood watchat the forest's edge,silent but vigilant. Hiskeen, predator's eyesscanned thedarkened woods, catching faintshadows shifting—curious but cautious.
ThePellarapproached quietly, standing just within thecircle of firelight.
"The spirits stir... but they watch." He nodded toward Erynn. "Her song binds the old oaths... but you-" His voice dropped, almost reverent. "You are something the forest remembers... but cannot name."
Veylan met the old man'sknowing gaze, though he offered no reply. Theforest whisperedfaintly, almost... acknowledging.
Asdawnbroke, thefire's embersstill glowed , breathless but radiant, stood before the nowcalm and silent woods.
"They accepted the offering," she whispered, leaningagainst Veylanfor support.
He wrapped a steadyingarm around her, his gaze still fixed on the tree line. "Good. But it's never just one night."
She smiled faintly. "Maybe... but for now... we're safe."
Thefirst rays of sunlightcut through the canopy, castingwarm lightacrossnewly drawn warding sigils, now etched faintly into thecabin's stone ... watched... but no longer threatened.
For now.
…
Thevillagers of Willow's Hollowwerewaryby nature, scarred by years of war, famine, andmonster , apureblooded elfdraped inritual robes, performingelven ritesnear theforest's edgestirreduneasy whispersamong them:
"Elf magic..."
"Bringing spirits into the village... can't be good."
"Witcher's in league with her... figures."
Butno one dared villagersfearedthePellar, whosecryptic authoritygranted him anuntouchable Erynn's ritualssilenced outright hostility, though it didn't erase the villagers' suspicion.
With the ritual concluded,Erynnand thePellarmoved toward hisherb-laden hutin theforest clearing, exchangingknowledgeaboutlocal spirits,pagan rites, andherbal alchemy.
Before leaving,Veylan adjusted his sword belts, checking hissilver bladeandsteel-forged weapon, each etched with faintrunic glanced atErynn, his eyes softening for a brief moment.
"I'll handle supplies," he said evenly. "And see what work I can pick up."
"Be careful," she murmured, brushing a hand across his armored forearm.
He nodded and turned toward thevillage's center, wherenotice boardsandgathering spotsdrew idle locals, and potentialcontracts.
Veylan strode into the village, hispiercing gazesweeping over theweathered notice boardoutside thelocal wooden plankswere cluttered with:
"GHOUL NEST SIGHTED – WEST OF THE CREEK"
Bounty:50 Crowns
Details:Four ghoulsspotted near theold burial grounds, attacking hunters and grave the nest.
"DANGEROUS WILD BEAR – NORTHERN HILL"
Bounty:75 Crowns
Details:Amassive bearwithscarred hidewas seenmauling livestocknear thenorthern areafraid to leave their homes.
"RABID WOLVES KILLING LIVESTOCK"
Bounty:60 Crowns
Details:Three wolf packsspotted nearRotfang say theydragged off sheep and cattle, attacking anyone wandering too far from the village.
Veylan snatched the three notices, folding them neatly into his contracts, butwork was buzzed faintly, reacting to something distant—butquiet for now.
He crossed paths with thevillage alderman,Warrik Trane, aburly, no-nonsense farmerwith thickcalloused hands.
"You takin' those jobs?" Warrik grunted, eyeing Veylan warily.
"Depends," Veylan replied coolly. "Anyone else offering more?"
Warrik smirked. "Not much coin in a place like this. Youclear those nests, though... we'll see aboutpaying extrainsupplies or gear."
Veylan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I'll take that deal."
…
Tracking theghoul packwasroutine but relied on hisheightened senses,spotting trackshalf-buried inmuddy creek ghouls,malformed and ravenous, attacked as expected, theirclaws gleamingwith rottingnecrophage toxin.
Hecut them down efficiently, hissteel bladeflashing in precise, deadly bombsshattered theirnest, scatteringburnt bonesandrunic-infused chitinacross the smoldering site.
Veylan gatheredghoul claws,teeth, andalchemical glands, carefully stowing therare runesuncovered among theburnt remains.
…
Tracking thescarred bearprovedmore trail led throughthick underbrush, stained withbloodfrommauled livestock.
When he finallyfound it, thebeast reared up, towering overseven feet tall, itshide scarredfrom oldhunters' blades. Itsroarshook thesurrounding trees.
Thefight was 'sstrength and speed, enhanced byrock troll genes, allowed him to endure its savage strikesto itsthick neck and shoulderfinallybrought it downafter agrueling, blood-soaked battle.
Breathing heavily,Veylan secured its carcass,dragging ittoward thevillage, leaving atrail of crushed foliagein his wake.
After returning thebear carcass, Veylan didn't more tripsfollowed, draggingwolf corpsesfrom the darkenedRotfang Hollow, the remnants ofrabid wolf packsthat had terrorized thevillage's herds.
…
As Veylan returned everyone stared in disbelief,hauling beaststhatthreatened their and butcherseagerlyclaimed wolf hidesandbear meat, some offeringextra suppliesin exchange.
Warrik Traneapproached grimly, countingcoins from a leather pouch."Didn't think you'd make it back... let alonethree damn times."
Veylan shrugged,scarred arms streaked with dried blood."Didn't see a reason towaste good meat."
TheAlderman smirked, impressed despite himself. "Fair point."
Withleather rollsstrapped tightly toNimrael's saddleandrunestones securedin asmall satchel,Veylanadjusted his gear and began thelong walk backtoward theold forester's lodge. Thepale autumn sundipped lower, staining theforest canopyin shades ofamber and rust.
His thoughts lingered onErynn, likely still deep inritual discussionswith thePellar, and onVelen's unyielding wilds, which never stayed silent for long.
Instincts prickling, Veylan slowed his pace, his sharpgolden-green gazesweeping thedarkened treeline. TheChimera medallionresting against his chest gave a faint,persistent hum.
He stopped, exhalingslowly, feeling the familiarweight of unseen eyes.
"Seriously? This again?"he muttered, rubbing his face inexasperation.
Turningdeliberately, his gazelocked ontoacluster of thorny shrubsjust beyond themoss-covered path.
"You can come out now," Veylan called, his tone edged withmild annoyance."Unless you're hoping I'll pretend not to notice... again."
Theundergrowth stirred, andsix Scoia'tael scoutsemerged, theirbows loweredbutstill in ,Vaelas, stepped forward, hisamber eyes sharpandcalculatingas always.
"You knew we were following you..." Vaelas stated, though there wasno questionin his tone.
"From the moment we left the cursed grove," Veylan replied dryly. "You've been about as subtle as a charging wyvern."
Vaelas's expressionhardened."We want 've seen...what you are."
TheScoia'tael scoutsshifteduneasily, clearlydisturbedby what they'd witnessed in theswamp battleand thecursed grove.
Veylan sighedheavily, hisgloved hand restingon the hilt of hissilver sword—not in threat, but as though bracing for yet anotherinevitable confrontation.
"You want answers? Fine." He tooktwo slow steps forward,meeting Vaelas's gazewith piercing intensity. "But I'm not standing here all day. Night falls fast in Velen. So, let's get this over with... and go our merry ways."
Vaelas narrowed his eyes. "You're not...justa Witcher, are you?"
Veylan's lips twitchedin something resemblingdark amusement."Good observation. Took you long enough."
TheScoia'tael leaderhissedthrough clenched teeth."What... are you?"
Veylan's gazedarkened,cold and distant, his mindpulling threadsof a past he had longburiedbeneathlayers of slowly, almostresigned—perhaps theydeserved to know.
"You want to knowwhatI am?"Veylan's voiceturnedlowandmeasured, carryingdecades of bitterness.
"I remember... , distorted memories, like shattered glass." Hepaused, his expression tightening. "I was...raised in a deep in the south, far beyond Nilfgaard's borders... whereat least three dozen alchemistsandmasters of forbidden artsgathered behind a...shared obsession."
"They... soughtperfection, aweaponunlike anything ever created. They wanted aWitcher... that couldcontrol monsters... by becoming one."
Helifted a gloved hand, tracing thefaint scarsetched like runesinto his forearm—permanent remindersof their work.
"Five of us..." His voice grewharsher, almostmechanical. "Five children... taken from villages, orphanages... or worse." Helocked eyeswithVaelas, daring him to look away.
"I'm the only one who lived."
"They...mixed things."Veylan's expression darkened, hismulticolored eyes glintinglike molten gold edged with blood.
"Leshen essence." He lifted his arm, letting the faintroot-like veins pulsebeneath the skin."Nature's wrath... unwillingly tied to my soul."
"Kikimora blood." Hisfingers clenched,nails glintingfaintly likerazor-sharp insectoid claws. "Reflexes sharper than steel... but instincts just as savage."
"Rock troll marrow." His shoulderstensed, thestone-like musclesalong his arms tightening. "Strength. Endurance. Pain resistance. But only for a time."
"Drowner's breath." Hesneered, recalling the sensation ofwater filling his lungs."They drowned me repeatedly... until breathing underwater became...natural."
"Basilisk nerves." Hisjaw tightened, hispupils briefly slittinginto vertical lines. "For reflexes and... something else. A predator's hunger."
"Royal Wyvern venom sacs." Hisveins darkened faintly, likepoison bleeding through his skin."Toxin immunity. No blade... no brew... can poison me."
"Gryphon senses." Hiseyes narrowed,sharpening like an eagle's gaze."I can see... hear... feel... more than I ever wanted."
"Marr essence." His voice dropped into somethingcoldandunforgiving.
"The nightmare thought they couldharness fear itself." His breath fogged faintly in the chill air. "I can consume nightmares... but what they didn't realize... is that they can consume me, too."
"Foglet vapor." Hisskin paled momentarily,faint mist risingfrom hisfingertips."For stealth... and survival... when I need to disappear."
Hestilled, his voicetightening, as though thenext wordstasted likeashes.
"They... weren't done."
Hisbreath sharpened, hisshoulders tensingas oldphantom painseared through his mind.
"Higher Vampire blood." Hiseyes burned faintly crimson, acold fireflickering in hisinhuman gaze."... though they didn't know its source, they probably picked one at random."
Hesmiled grimly."They thought a few...droplets... would be enough. But it wasn't... was it?"
"In the end... they didn't create a Witcher." His voice turnedraw, his gazepiercing.
"They made something far worse... something they couldn't control."
Hisfingers twitchednear hissilver blade, though no threat lingered in his voice. "I survived... but I've never truly lived."
Silencesettled over theclearing, cold 'taelstared,ashen-faced, their expressionsfixed between either terror and horror.
Veylan took aslow step forward, hisstare unwavering. "Does that answer your question?"
Vaelas'sjaw tightened, though his eyes flickered withnew understanding, and fear.
"Stay out of my path," Veylan growled,voice cold as steel."Because you'll never know...which side... of me you're dealing with."
TheScoia'tael scoutssilentlymelted backinto thedarkened woods, theiruneasy glanceslingering only briefly, hauntedby what they nowunderstood.
Veylan stood alone,rooted in the stillness, his expressionunchanged... yet hollow.
"Damn fools," he muttered, turning back toward theforester's lodge, leaving only thewhispers of the forestin his wake.
…
Vaelasand hisscoutsmovedsilentlythrough thetwisted woods, their expressions grim and encounter withVeylanplayed onloopin their minds, his story,his monstrous bloodline, and thecold truththat he wasno ordinary Witcher.
TheScoia'tael war camplay deep withinVelen's forested heart, hidden beneath a thickcanopy of oaksand fortified withbrush barriers,camouflaged tents, andlookout war tent, its battered elven banners marked withblood-red handprints, stood at the center, whereCommander Caelirwaited,impatientandtense.
Vaelasand hisremaining scoutsapproached thewar table, theirmud-streaked armorstill glinting faintly under 'sgreen eyespierced through them likedaggers.
"Report." His voice wascold,commanding, andunyielding.
The Witcher knew we were watching him." Hepaused,gathering his thoughts."But... he's not...justa Witcher. He's... more than a mere hybrid."
Caelir'sraised an eyebrow. "Explain."
Vaelas began, his voice low andtinged with dread:
"He told us everything...aboutwhat he is."
"He... was created. Raised in a throughhorrific mixedWitcher mutationswith...more."
Caelir's face twisted,though he said nothing. Theofficers at the tableexchangeduneasy glances.
"Leshen blood," Vaelas continued, "Kikimora venom... Rock Troll marrow... Drowner gills... and even... Marr essence and many more."
A sharpintake of breathrippled through the war spiritswerefeared legends, said todevour mindsthroughnightmares.
"He commands nature,becomes the hunter,resists poison,vanishes into mist, and...consumes fear itself."
Caelir stepped closer, voice dark and demanding. "And you lived?"
"We didn't fight him," Vaelas admitted,jaw clenched. "He...let us only after...showing us."
Silence fell, a stillnesschargedwithdisbeliefanddread.
Vaelas took a sharp breath,forcing out the truththat still burned in his mind:
"They used... Higher Vampire blood... at the end."
Thewar tent exploded into whispers,murmurs of horrorweaving through thecommanderslikepoisoned roots.
"Higher Vampire?!" one officer hissed,visibly shaken."You're saying... they mixed him with... one ofthose?"
"He survived... all of it," Vaelas said hollowly,shoulders saggingwithexhaustion."He's the only one who did."
Caelirtook severalslow stepstoward thewar table, hisexpression downat theancient elven mapofVelen, hisfingers twitchingas if seeking ablade's hilt.
After a long moment, hespoke, voice low butcold as winter steel:
"Not a Witcher. Not fully."
"Not a monster... but close."
He lifted his gaze, hisgreen eyes blazingwith something betweenhatredandfascination.
"He's...a Chimera."
Thewar tentfell intodead silence.
Caelir's next wordsweredeliberate,final, andetched in iron.
"A being made of...many.A living weapon."
He turned sharply toward hiscommanders,expression stone-hard:
"Spread the word. Let no one speak of this outside the camp. If the Vrihedd Brigade learns of him... they'll want him as their pet. And if the Nilfgaardians hear of it... they'll tear the forest apart."
Hisvoice dropped, darker still, if we choose to approach him again we must do so with some sort of bargain behind it… no more spying on him unless absolutely necessary! We cant afford to provoke him like we may already have!"
Vaelas stiffened."And if he comes here... what then?"
Caelir's lips twistedinto somethingcoldandunforgiving.
"Pray... he doesn't."
Thenight settled heavilyover the darkened woods ofVelen, casting theforester's lodgein a blanket ofquiet candlelightflickered through the cabin'scurtained windows,soft amber lightilluminating theweathered wooden beamswithin.
In thenearby stable,Nimrael,Veylan's midnight-black mare, andAshbloom,Erynn's silvery gelding, stoodcomfortably bedded downon fresh straw, theircoats brushed clean,saddles removed, andgear stored.
Veylan gaveNimrael's neckone lastfirm pat, his sharpamber-green eyesscanning the stable for anythingout of of vigilancehad burned the habit into his soul, never rest until the beasts you trust are secure.
Satisfied, helatched the stable door, hisChimera medallionfaintly vibrating, not from danger, but fromlingering ambient magicthat still soaked thesurrounding forest.
The softcrackling of the hearthgreeted him as he stepped into thelodge, closing theoak doorbehind him with a quiet 's light touch of magichad made the old cabinwarmer, more...alive.
She stoodbarefootnear thesmall hearth,wrapped only in a blanket, its edges loosely draped around herslender hair, free of its usual braids, cascaded over her shoulders insoft waves, glowing likeburnished copperin the candlelight.
Heremerald eyes sparkled, filled withaffection and quiet admiration, watching Veylan with a gaze thatspoke volumeswithout needing words.
Veylan paused, hissharp features softeningas hedrank in the sight of her.
"You're back,"she whispered, her voicesoft and warm, as iftime had stilledjust for them.
"Always."His voicelow, edged with somethingfar gentlerthan his usual tone.
He crossed the room inmeasured steps, his gaze never leaving tension of the day... the blood spilled... the weight of what he was...all of it fell away inher presence.
Erynn smiled faintly, reaching for hisscarred hand, pulling him into her arms withfamiliar ease.
Thecandlelight flickered, castingsoft shadowsover theirintertwined formsas theymelted into one another—slowly,intimately, and withreverence born of trust.
Herfingertips tracedtheworn edgesof hisjacket buckles, gentlyundoing themas hepulled her closer, his touchachingly tender.
Breaths room filled only withsoft whispers,faint laughter, and thequiet vulnerabilitythey shared in a world that offered so little of it.
No words .Justthem.
From thevillage edge, whereforest shadowsmingled withwinding paths, a pair ofpassing travelersglanced toward theold forester's lodge.
Through thewindow's faint, flickering light, they could justbarely glimpsethesilhouettes of two figures intertwined, bathed in the warmgolden glow of candlelight.
A fleeting moment...a glimpse ofsolacecarved out ofhardship and survival.
And then thewind whispered, tugginggentlyat thetrees, as theforest watched silently.
…
Thefirst light of dawnfiltered through thecabin's window, casting softamber raysacrossweathered wooden 's embershad long since dimmed, leaving behind only awarm, lingering comfort.
Erynn stirred, herfiery hair tangledin the furs as shewatched Veylan dress, hissharp features calmin the morning light—armor straps tightened,leather belts secured, andblades sheathedwith precision. He moved withquiet efficiency, though his gaze softened when it met hers.
"Ready?" he asked,voice low but steady.
She nodded, already slipping into hertraveling cloak, itsrich crimson foldsshimmering faintly withprotective runesshe had inscribed the night before. "Let's see this through."
Theirhorses' hoovesclattered along themuddy path, thefaint smell of smoke and charred woodgrowing stronger as thedistant walls of Crow's Perchrose above thehazy Velen horizon.
As theyneared the gate,guards clad in rusted armorblocked their approach, theirexpressions harsh and mistrustful.
"State your business!" thegate captain barked, his hand resting on the hilt of apoorly-maintained sword.
Veylanraised a calm hand,keeping his voice even.
"We've come from the old forest road. The curse that plagued the path... it's lifted. Your stablemaster in Velen asked me to inform his kin-"
The guard scoffed."And who might that be?"
"Rurik blacksmith. Said he had family here.*"
Thegate captain's eyes narrowedat the name but nodded after a moment. "He's our blacksmith, alright... though I wonder what business he's got sending folk likeyouhere."
Erynn's gaze sharpened,thoughVeylan squeezed her arm gently,keeping her from responding.
"We'll find out soon enough," Veylan said coldly. "Are you letting us in, or shall we inform your blacksmith that you turned away his kin's messenger?"
Thegate captain cursed quietly, waving them through. "Fine. Be warned, Nilfgaardians are inside the fort. Official business. Cause trouble, and it'll be your heads."
Theinner yardofCrow's Perch was busy with withactivity, despite theair of tensionthick as hauled timber,soldiers sharpened swords, andsmoke billowedfrom theblacksmith's forgein the distance.
"Let's find Rurik first," Veylan suggested, steeringNimraeltoward the forge.
Rurik Ironhand, abroad-shouldered, middle-aged blacksmithwithsoot-stained armsand agrizzled beard, washammering steelwithpracticed eyessoftened upon seeing them.
"You must be the ones my brother sent word about... Velen's a cursed place." His expression darkened. "You say the forest's clear?"
"It is," Veylan confirmed. "For now. But we've heard Nilfgaard's breathing down your neck."
Rurik nodded grimly."Demanding armor shipments... but we're stretched thin. You'll want to speak withFergus Graem, the dwarf running the forge. And his assistant... she's the real steel behind the hammer."
Thecentral forgeburned brightly, withsparks flyingas aburly dwarven smith, Fergus Graem, hammeredred-hot steelinto shape. Beside him,Yoana, atall, muscular womanwithbraided hairand thesteady intensity of a Skellige warrior, workedsilently but fiercely.
Theybarely looked upasVeylan and Erynn approached.
"Need something?" Fergus grunted,wiping sweatfrom hissooty brow.
"We hear you're having issues with your armor shipments," Veylan replied evenly. "Thought we'd help, if you're open to it."
Yoana frowned, pausing her work. "Help?Unless you've gotArchgriffon acid glandsandenchanted tools,there's nothing you can do. This batch'll barely pass muster without them…"
Veylan didn't opened his satchel, withdrawingtwo jars of viscous, faintly glowing Archgriffon acid glandsand a set ofancient forging toolsbound inrune-inscribed leather.
Fergus and Yoana stared,momentarily stunned.
"These help?" Veylan asked with quiet certainty.
Yoana recovered first, her voice sharper."Where in the bloody isles did yougetthose?"
"Let's just say... I like being prepared."
Theforge burned brighter, the promise ofbetter-crafted armorsparking somethinghopeful... and competitive between the two blacksmiths.
…
Theforge roared hotterasYoanaandVeylangot to work,hammering steelandcrafting plateswithprecision honed by fire and forging toolsVeylan provided glowed faintly withrunes of durabilityandenchantment,enhancing the steelas they worked insynchronized rhythm.
Fergus Graemworked nearby, hisexpression tightas he focused onshaping his own armor set,though hestole glancesat Yoana's superior craftsmanship withthinly veiled irritation.
After hours ofintense forging,Yoana wiped her brow,theglint of determinationstillburningin herfierce inspected the completedbreastplate, its surfaceglimmering faintlywithquenching linesfrom theArchgriffon acid.
"Best work I've done yet," she muttered, running agloved handover theperfectly tempered plates.
Veylan secured his tools, silentlywatchingher work withrespect.
Yoana glanced up, her expressionshifting from intensity to resolve.
"I need a volunteer," she stated. "Armor this good means nothing without proof. You up for it?"
Veylan smirked faintly."Been stabbed worse."
Theforge fires dimmedasYoana and Ferguscompleted theirarmors, each set gleaming with its owndistinct thebreastplateforged byYoana, itssurface etchedwith faintquenching linesfromArchgriffon acid. Nearby, anothervolunteer soldierdonnedFergus's armor, thethicker but unenchanted steelglintingdullyunder thelow sun.
TheNilfgaardian captain, asevere-faced manwithdark, calculating eyes, stood witharms crossed, flanked bycrossbowmenarmed withheavy bolts. He gave a single, sharp nod.
"Begin."
Veylan stood tall, unmoving as thecrossbowman -green eyeslocked forward,unflinching.
TWANG.
Thecrossbow bolt flew,whistling through the air, andslammeddirectly into thecenter of Yoana's breastplatewith asharp crack. The impact sentsparks flying, but thebolt head crumpled,bouncing harmlesslyoff theacid-hardened steel.
The Nilfgaardians gasped softly.
Veylan exhaled slowly,rolling his shoulders beneath the armor. The plateheld firm, leavingno dent, barely even a scratch.
Yoana's eyes gleamedwithfierce pride, though she kept her expressioncontrolled.
Thesecond crossbowman reloaded, taking aim at theother volunteer soldierwearingFergus's armor.
TWANG.
Thebolt struck hard,digging deepinto thethicker steel staggered,stumbling backward, barely able to keep his footing.A deep dentmarred the center of the breastplate, the bolt stoppedjust shortof piercing through, thoughonly just.
Thevolunteer grunted in pain, rubbing his chestwhere the force slightlybut managed tostay standing.
TheNilfgaardian captain stepped forward, his eyes fixedcoldlyonYoana's armor, thenFergus's dented sharplytowardYoana's work.
"This armor holds. The other... barely." His tone wasflat but final.
He turned towardFerguswithunspoken dismissal, then nodded towardYoana."We'll negotiate terms, withher."
Fergus's face darkened, hispride bruised, though hesaid nothing.
As theNilfgaardians departed,Yoana let outa slow,steadying breath, her hands stillclenched into fistsfrompent-up tension.
She turned towardVeylan, her expressionsoftening, grateful but guarded.
"You didn't have to stand there," she saidquietly."Could've walked away like most."
Veylan shrugged."Figured you could use someone who wouldn't flinch."
Yoana's lips quirked, almost asmile."Braver than most I've met. Stupid, but brave."
Theireyes met briefly,understanding passingbetween them.
"Next time, try not to get shot." Hergrin widened slightly.
"No promises,"Veylan smirked,turning awaytoward thestables.
…
Fromacross the courtyard,Geralt of Riviaemerged from thestables, adjustingRoach's saddle , wolfish gazeswept over the bustling courtyard, instinctively scanning for potential threats.
That's when hismedallion trembled violently,humming sharplyagainst his chest, adistinctive magical pulseunlike anything he'd sensed before. His eyes snapped to the source.
Two figures.
Ablack and silver-haired Witcher,scarred and weathered, clad inmonster-forged armor, and anelven womanwithfiery red hairthat shimmered faintly in themorning radiatedfrom them both, untamedandancient.
Geralt's grip tightenedonRoach's ?His eyes school medallionhe recognized... and thatstrange medallionhung from theother Witcher's neck, shimmering faintly withrunes.
"Not every day you see another Witcher,"Geralt called, his tonecalm but wary.
Veylan turned slowly, hisamber-green eyes lockingontoGeralt's familiar expression remainedcool, thoughrecognition flickered.
"Wolf School, I take it?" Veylan replied evenly.
"And you?" Geralt asked,eyes narrowing. "Never seen a medallion like that before... or heard of a school with that symbol."
Veylan's lips twitched faintlyin something resembling asmirk.
"You wouldn't have." Heuntied his horse's reins, keeping histone guarded."It wasn't exactly... well known."
"School of the Chimera," Veylan said at last."There were five of us... I was the only one who lived."
Geralt frowned."Never heard of it, or a Witcher school taking so few kids before?"
"You wouldn't have," Veylan continued. "They weren't doing it out of the kindness of their hearts." Hisexpression darkened, shadows ofold memories surfacing."The whole keep fell into chaos after... what they did. I escaped before they could finish whatever twisted game they were playing."
Geralt's gaze the look, old pain,survival edged with distrust, and adetermination to keep moving forward.
"Sounds like you've got a story worth hearing," Geralt said quietly. "But I've got my own hunt to finish. Looking for someone close to me, the baron knows where they might be."
Veylan exchanged a glancewithErynn, who nodded silently.
"Seems we're headed the same way," Veylan offered. "Might as well... compare notes."
Geralt's brow lifted, hiswolfish smirkreturning just slightly.
"Don't slow me down."
"I was about to say the same." Veylan replied, histone matching Geralt's.
Veylan, Erynn,andGeraltdismounted theirhorses, tethering them near stablehand, eyes wide withawe and terror, hesitated before hurriedly seeing toNimrael, Ashbloom,andRoach.
Before they could approach themain keep, theheavy oaken doorsswung open, revealing abroad, imposing figureframed covered head gleamed, and hisweathered facewore the permanent scowl of a man accustomed tocommanding respectthroughintimidation.
Philip Strenger, The Bloody Baron.
Hissharp blue eyesscannedVeylan, Erynn,andGeraltwithmeasured intensity, lingering onVeylanfor a moment longer.
"Two Witchers... and an Aen Seidhe sorceress." His voice was alow, gravelly rumble. "I'd say today's lookin' interesting already."
Geralt inclined his head,expression neutral."Baron."
"I've heard of you, Wolf of Kaer Morhen... but you-" he pointed acalloused finger toward Veylan. "You're somethin' else entirely." 'Chimera,' they call you. Heard tales. Cursed forests, monsters taken care of like child's play... already made the Nilfgaardians look like fools."
Veylan remained calm, hissharp gaze steady."Did what needed doing. Nothing more."
The Baron smirked, clearlyamused.
"Follow me. You first, Witcher," he gestured towardGeralt."We've business to discuss. You two-" he glanced atVeylan and Erynn, "wait here. You'll get your turn soon as I'm done discussing the terms with your associate here."
With a curt nod,Geralt followedPhilip Strengerinto thefortress hall, leaving Veylan and Erynn momentarily alone.
…
Minutes later, afterGeralt's private meeting, theyascended the stone steps,both paused mid-stride, theirmedallions vibrating faintly, a hum ofold protective magiclingering in the hall.
Erynn's eyes narrowed."Protective runes... but faint. Old. Someone enchanted this place."
Veylan nodded."Something crafted... possibly a Pellar's work." Hisfingers traced the wall, sensingdeep-rooted wardsmeant tobindorprotect.
Geralt emergedfrom a side passage, hiswitcher senses tingling."You feel that too?"
"Residual magic," Veylan confirmed. "Protective, not harmful. Might be linked to... whatever happened here."
Geralt frownedbut remained silent as hismedallion trembledfaintly. His eyesnarrowed sharply, focusing on aglint of metalhalf-hiddenbeneath thestairway banister.
He crouched,retrieving a small, hand-crafted medallion,worn but , marked withforest symbolsandbinding glyphs.
"Definitely a Pellar's work," Geralt muttered. "Someone was protecting... or hiding... something."
The three entered the Baron's Keep, making their way throughdimly lit hallsthick withsmokefromwall-mounted torches.
Their first stop wasTamara's room, the Baron's daughter. The space wasneat,organized... almosttoo perfect.
Erynn's sharp gazeswept over thesparse decorations, whileGeralt's witcher senseshighlighted faintscratchesaround the 's keen eyeslocked onto asmall cluster of wooden dolls, carefully arranged on a shelf, one bearing an unsettling resemblanceto theBaron, withneedle marksjabbed into its torso and limbs.
"Effigy... or curse?"Erynn mused,lifting the doll withcareful reverence.
"Perhaps,"Geralt added."Made to inflict pain. But... it's incomplete. Symbolic... maybe a cry for help."
As they enteredAnna's room,Veylan froze mid-step, hiseyes widening.
Blood.
Thoughlong cleaned,faint traces remained—enough to set his senses intake of breathcaughtGeralt's attention, whoactivated his witcher senses, immediatelyspotting faint streaksofdried bloodnear thetable's edge.
"There was... a fight here,"Veylan hissed,veins faintly darkeningasold instincts stirred.
"A woman's blood," he added. "Fresh enough that I can still smell it... even now."
Geralt frownedbutnodded grimly."Matches the marks on the floor... someone tried to cover it up."
Thefinal stopwas themain living quarters, wheresigns of strugglelittered the space.
Veylan's sharp gazecaughtspilled wine, shatteredgoblets, anddeep gougesalong thewooden floorboards.
Geralt's eyes narrowedas heexamined the walls,noting apainting slightly ajar.
"It's been moved... recently," he muttered,yanking the frame aside—revealing ahidden mechanismbuilt into the wall.
Behind it, acandlestick lay shattered, itsbase crackedfrom where it had beenhurled during the struggle.
"Someone fought... and someone fled,"Geralt growled.
"But why cover it up?"Erynn whispered."This was... personal."
…
Thedarkened hallsseemed tobreatheasshadows danced, theweight of old violencelingeringstill.
TheBaron's studywasdimly lit, thefaint crackle of the hearthcastinguneven shadowsacross thescarred wooden tablewherePhilip Strengersat, hisrough handsclenched intofists.
Geralt, Veylan,andErynnstoodopposite him, theirexpressions cold and unyielding.
"Out with it, then," theBaron grumbled, hisbloodshot eyesflicking towardGeralt first."What did you find?"
Geralt crossed his arms,hisvoice flat.
"We found signs of a struggle in the main room," he began. "Spilled wine, broken goblets, and a smashed candlestick behind a hidden compartment in the wall. The painting covering it was moved... sloppily."
Philip's face twisted,though he remainedsilent.
"Recognize this?" Geralt asked,tossing the medalliononto thetable.
TheBaron's brow lifted theroughly crafted charm, turning it over in histhick fingers.
"Looks like... something a Pellar would make," he admitted. "But I've never seen it before."
Erynn stepped forward,placing the dollon thetablewithmeasured care.
"This was in Tamara's room," she said, hervoice cold."Looks like someone's been... using it. Needle marks in the chest, arms, and head. A crude effigy. Any idea what it means?"
Philip flickeredwithsomething deeper—pain, regret, or guilt—but he quickly buried it.
"No... never saw it before," he muttered. "But... Tamara was always... headstrong. If she was tryin' to... curse me, she never let it show."
Veylan's gaze sharpened,histone dropping to ice.
"The blood in Anna's room... someone tried cleaning it."
TheBaron visibly whitenedas hisfists clenched tighter.
"Who cleaned it up?"Veylan pressed,hisamber-green eyes gleamingwithpredatory intensity.
Theroom fell into suffocating silence.
Philip's face twisted,hisbreath heavy, and for amoment, it seemed as if he mightlash out... but instead, his shoulders sagged.
"When I came to..." hisrough voice cracked,lowered almost to a whisper."There was... blood on the floor. A lot of it. I didn't... remember much at first..."
His eyes dimmed,hollow withunspoken grief.
"My... my child... was there. On the floor."
Erynn stiffened, herhand twitchingtoward hermedallion.
"Anna miscarried," theBaron continued, hisvoice trembling."Our child... dead before she could ever take a breath."
"Did Anna... say anything?" Geralt asked, histone grimbutmeasured.
"I don't know..." theBaron admitted,voice hoarse. "I was drunk. Barely remember the fight... only... Anna screaming... and then... Tamara... she must've hit me. When I woke up... they were gone."
Theheavy silencestretched,thick and suffocating.
GeraltandVeylan exchangedadark glance, understanding dawning inboth their minds.
"The stillborn..."Erynn whispered,eyes wide with realization."It could have... turned... into something else."
Philip's gaze snapped upward,wild withdesperation.
"Turned? Into... what?"
Geralt's tone dropped."A Botchling."
The Baron paled, his face contorting into somethingraw... broken.
TheBaron's face drained of color, hisrough hands tremblingas he gripped theedge of the worn wooden table, knuckles white with suppressedfearanddesperation.
"A... Botchling?" he whispered,voice cracking. "What in the bloody hells is that?! What... what does it mean? What's happened to... my child?"
Hiseyes flicked wildlybetweenGeralt, Veylan,andErynn,pleadingfor answersdespite himself.
Geralt exhaled slowly,his tonegrimandsteady.
"A Botchling... is a cursed being." He stepped closer,piercing yellow eyeslocking onto theBaron's trembling gaze."The spirit of an unwanted, stillborn child... one buried without name or honor."
Philip staggered,horror blooming across his face. "Buried without... a name?"
"If the child is abandoned,"Erynn continued softly,her voiceheavy with ancient sorrow, "or left without proper rites... its spirit twists into something... hungry. Malicious."
Veylan's voice cut coldly:
"It feeds on grief... on hatred... and on blood."
TheBaron stumbled backward,breathing raggedly, hisface ashen.
"I... I didn't know—" His voice broke. "I was... drunk out of my mind! After... after Anna and Tamara vanished... after the fight..."
Hishands trembled violentlyas heslammed themagainst thetable, as though trying toanchor himself.
"I buried... the body. Alone. Like a damned fool..." Hiseyes widenedin starkrealization."I didn't... give her a name. I didn't... even think..."
Hesank heavilyinto anearby chair, hisbroad shoulders slumpingunder theweight of guilt.
"Gods have mercy... I just... buried her in the backyard... and drank until I couldn't feel anymore..."
Veylan's gaze hardened,thoughErynn's expression softened, a flicker ofempathyflashing through heremerald eyes.
"It's not too late..." she said gently. "But you must act... now."
Geralt nodded sharply.
"If we find the Botchling... there are two ways this ends."
TheBaron's head lifted slowly,tears glisteningin hisbloodshot eyes.
"Tell me..." Hisvoice trembled."What... what must I do?"
Geralt's tone dropped to iron.
"We can kill it... or... we can lift the curse."
TheBaron's breath hitched, his eyeswide with desperation, lingering onGeralt, Veylan,andErynnlike a drowning manclinging to a lifeline.
"Lift the curse?"Philip's voice cracked,strainedwithfragile hope."How... how can that be done?"
Geraltcrossed his arms,expression grimbutsteady."We can try." Histone softened—just slightly."It's... not easy... and it's not guaranteed."
Veylan stepped forward,hisamber-green eyes gleamingfaintly withold knowledge.
"There's an ancient rite... older than men's gods." His voice wasmeasured,commanding."We can turn the Botchling... into aLubberkin. A guardian spirit. One that will... protect your home. And-" He paused meaningfully. "If its soul accepts... it might be able toleadus to your family."
TheBaron's gaze flickered, hisvoice trembling."How... how do we do it? Tell me. Whatever it takes, just... tell me!"
Erynnstepped closer, hersoft, melodic voicecalm but unyielding.
"The curse binds the child's soul... warping it into a thing of hatred and hunger. To break it... you must give the child what was denied:A name.One chosen with love and meaning."
"You'll have to... hold the Botchling in your arms..." Hertone steadied,steeling herselfagainst thedark memoriesconjured by the ritual's grim reality. "Carry it to... where it belongs, a graveblessed by memory,near your home. The child must know... it was wanted."
"Once the child is named,"Veylan continued, hisexpression unreadable,"You'll bury it under your house's threshold—the foundation,where its spirit cananchor itself.Only then... can it become a Lubberkin."
He paused, hisvoice droppingto somethingcold and sharp.
"But the Botchling...will resist.It will... fight... every step of the way. It will lash out at you... and at anyone who tries to help. You'll have to bestronger.Show... that it wasyours.That youstill care.Or it'll... kill you."
Philip's jaw trembled,hiscalloused hands tremblingas he gripped theedge of the glistenedwithguilt,regret, andraw desperation.
"...A name?" he whispered, almostbroken."I never... even thought to..."
Erynn's expression softened."It's... not too late."
The Baron's breath hitched, his gazefalling downwardas he seemed todrown in memory.
Afterseveral agonizing moments,hisvoice finally broke free, cracked withgrief and resolve.
"Dea." Heswallowed hard,fists clenched."I'll... name her Dea."
Geralt, Veylan,andErynn exchanged a knowing look,grim understanding passing between them.
"Then we begin... at nightfall,"Geralt said quietly."Pray the spirits listen."
Theroom fell silentas thefireplace crackled, theweight of destiny settling inlike ablade poised for judgment.
…
Later that night…
Thechill of nightsettled heavily overCrow's Perch, wrapping thefortress groundsinthick fogandwhispers of the , Veylan,andErynnfollowedPhilip Strengeracross themuddy yard, guided only by the faintglow of torchesmounted along the crumblingstone walls.
TheBaron's facewasdrawn and hollow, hisexpression strainedas he trudged toward theback of the fort, theweight of guiltpressing down with every 's cloak billowed, faintrunes glowing softlyin themoonlightas shewhispered quiet blessings.
They reached aforgotten cornernear theedge of the fort, where thegrass lay trampledandearth overturned, the remnants of ahastily dug grave, its edges crumbling,half-sunken from time and rain.
Geralt's sharp eyesscanned thedisturbed soil,lips curlinginto a grim line.
"You picked a lovely spot," he muttereddarkly.
TheBaron flinched, hisshoulders tensingbeforegrumbling defensively.
"Ahh... will you relent?! I know I've done wrong..." his voice cracked withregret, thoughstubbornness lingered.
Geralt held his gazefor a moment, then nodded curtly.
"Good." His tone wasflat, but there wasno malice, only truth.
Veylan's amber-green eyesnarrowed sharply,scanning theshallow medallion pulsed faintly, awarning.
"There's... no body," he growled, his tonelow and dangerous."The grave's empty."
Erynn's breath hitched, heremerald gaze flickeringtoward thesurrounding shadows."It's... on the prowl... watching us."
Fromdeep within the shadows,wet squelching soundsechoed faintly—twisting roots snappingundersomething small... and unnatural.
A grotesqueform crawled slowlyinto thetorchlight,itsskin pale, swollen, and veinylike abloated eyesgleamed faintly withhungry malice, though itssmall limbs trembled,claws twitching uncertainly.
TheBotchling.
Geralt and Veylanexchanged awordless glance, bothhands shiftingtoward theirswords—thoughneither yet.
Erynn's fingerstraced faintwarding glyphsin theair, prepared tosummon protective magic.
The Baron's face twistedinhorror, hisbreath catchingas hestaggered back.
"Gods... that's... her?" Hisvoice cracked, heavy withgrief and shame.
"Pick it up,"Veylan commanded coldly."Now."
Philip recoiled, trembling."It... it'll... kill me..."
"It's calmnow,"Geralt added sharply,amber eyes flashing. "Best we keep it that way."
"And if it... turns?" theBaron whispered,frozen in place.
"We'll cast Axii,"Geralt growled."A calming spell... or something stronger. But only if youtry.If it turns hostile, there's no saving anyone."
"Quickly,"Veylan barked,steel in his voice."Before it decides we're athreat.Do it...now."
With ashaking breath, theBaron approached,hisheart pounding,kneeling slowlynear theBotchling's twisted form.
Itsclaws twitched,empty eyes gleaming, though itsmovements stilledasPhilip reached out—tentative... trembling.
"Dea..." he whispered,voice breaking.
Hisrough hands gentlyscooped the small, cursed form,cradling it carefullyagainst his chest,sobbing softly.
For the first time...theBotchling didn't resist.
Itshuddered faintly,whimpering, itsclaws looseningas itnuzzled weaklyagainst him, a twisted echoof what should have been afather's embrace.
Veylan, Geralt,andErynnstoodtense and ready,magic thrummingbeneath theirfingers... but for now...the forest watched silently.
The ritual had begun.
…
Thecold windhowled through thedarkened courtyardofCrow's Perch, twisting theshadowsinto eeriefiguresthat flickered justbeyond the theBotchlingagainst his chest, itssmall, grotesque form trembling faintly, itsclaws twitchingwith everysharp gust.
Geralt, Veylan,andErynnformed aprotective circle, theirweapons drawn—silver blades gleamingin themoonlight, theirmedallions tremblingwith an ever-growinghum of danger.
They movedslowly but deliberately,Geraltin front,Veylan covering the rear, andErynn flanking the Baron,silent prayerswhispered under her breath, herruned staff aglowwith faintwarding glyphs.
Theair shiftedsuddenly, thick withcold formsburst from theearth,shrieking wraithstwisted bylingering hatredanddark faces twisted in agony, theirrazor-thin claws gleamingwithghostly fire.
"Wraiths!"Geralt barked, shifting intocombat stance.
Without missing a beat,Veylan surged forward,steel-eyed and ready.
Hissilver sword arced,slicing cleanlythrough thenearest specter,green runes flashingfaintly along the blade' wraith shattered,hissing into mist, leaving behind only the faintscent of cold ash.
Geralt lunged,Igni roaringfrom hisgloved hand,fire engulfingtwowraithsthatlunged wildlyfrom theleft.
Erynn spun, herstaff carving runesinto thefrozen air, a flash ofsilver-white magicpiercing the shadows,banishinganother specter before it couldclose in.
TheBaron stumbled,breathing hard, struggling to keep theBotchling , clawed fingerstrembled against his chest, itstwisted face scrunching in agitation.
"Dea... it's alright..." theBaron whispered, his voicehoarsebutearnest.
TheBotchling whimpered,teeth bared, itsbody stiffening—untilGeralt's sharp voicecut through thebattle's chaos.
"Axii! Now!"
Veylan's free hand snapped upward, fingersglowing with calming magic.A faintblue pulseradiated outward,washingover theBotchling, soothing itsagitated snarlsintofaint whimpers.
"Keep moving!"Geralt growled,shoving backanothercharging wraith, hissilver blade flashing.
Theypushed forward,cutting downspecter after specter, theirmovements sharp and efficient, a deadlydance of steel, fire, and magic.
Erynn's spellswoveprotective wards,binding magicsearing thedarkened ground, forcing thewraiths backtoward thefort's gates.
TheBaron's grip tightenedon theBotchling,hisface pale and strained, but hedid not steady,drivenby somethingmore powerfulthanfear, hope.
Finally, theyburst throughthefort gates, thewraiths scatteringas iffleeingfrom thefort's protective blazed fiercely, casting theirshadows aside, leaving only thecold windand thelingering silence.
TheBaron collapsedto hisknees, stillclutching the Botchling, hischest heavingwithexhaustionandgrief.
Geraltwipedspecter ichorfrom hissilver blade,Veylan's gaze scanningtheperimeterforany lingering approached, placing agentle handon theBaron's shoulder.
"We're... safe." she whispered. "For now."
"Now comes the easier part."
…
Thenight windhowledsoftly, swirling through thecourtyardofCrow's PerchasPhilip Strengerstoodkneeling, cradling hisstillborn daughter's twisted formagainst hisbroad chest.
Thefirelight dimmed, leaving only theglow of enchanted runescast byErynn's softly whispered incantations, forming aprotective circlearound thehastily dug gravebeneath thefort's and watchful, hisamber-green eyes gleaming, hissilver sword sheathedbutready.
Geralthovered close, hissharp features grimas henodded firmlytoward theBaron."It's time."
Erynn stepped forward, her voice soft yet gentle, guiding the Baron through the ancient elven rite necessary to transform the cursed creature into a protective lubberkin.
"Repeat after me," she instructed, her eyes meeting the Baron's. "By the powers of earth and sky..."
The Baron swallowed hard, then echoed, "By the powers of earth and sky..."
"In the world that was to be your home," Erynn continued.
"In the world that was to be your home," the Baron repeated, his voice trembling.
"Forgive me, you who came but who I did not embrace," she said, her tone imbued with empathy.
"Forgive me, you who came but who I did not embrace," the Baron echoed, tears welling in his eyes.
"Name thee, and embrace thee as my daughter," Erynn concluded, her gaze unwavering.
The Baron took a deep breath, his voice breaking as he declared, "I name thee, Dea, and embrace thee as my daughter."
As the final words left his lips, a change swept through the air. The botchling's twisted form began to glow softly, its monstrous features gradually softening. The creature sighed, a gentle, almost contented sound, before going limp in the Baron's arms.
"It's done," Erynn whispered, placing a comforting hand on the Baron's shoulder. "She is at peace now."
The Baron nodded, his face a canvas of relief and sorrow. With great care, he laid Dea's now serene form into the prepared grave beside his home, covering her with earth as tears traced silent paths down his cheeks.
Geralt and Veylan stood vigil, their presence a silent testament to the solemnity of the moment. Once the burial was complete, they allowed the Baron a few moments of solitude, understanding the weight of his grief.
After a respectful silence, Geralt spoke, his voice gentle yet purposeful. "We should follow up on our leads. Time is of the essence."
Veylan nodded in agreement. "I'll seek out the Pellar. He may have insights we need."
"And I'll see where Dea's spirit guides me," Geralt added.
The Baron, regaining his composure, looked to them both with gratitude and determination. "Thank you. Find them... please."
With their paths set, the triogot on their horses and went two directions with Erynn and Veylan going one way and Geralt following the Lubetkin that appeared at Dea's grave.
…
After a respectful silence, Geralt spoke, his voice gentle yet purposeful. "We should follow up on our leads. Time is of the essence."
Veylan nodded in agreement. "I'll seek out the Pellar. He may have insights we need."
"And I'll see where Dea's spirit guides me," Geralt added.
The Baron, regaining his composure, looked to them both with gratitude and determination. "Thank you. Find them... please."
With their paths set, the triogot on their horses and went two directions with Erynn and Veylan going one way and Geralt following the Lubetkin that appeared at Dea's grave.