The Witcher: Chimera

Chapter 14: The School of the Wolf, Remade

…

The crossing into Kaedwen was uneventful, though not without its share of tension. The caravan, led by Geralt, approached the checkpoint where Kaedweni troops stood watch. They were clad in their familiar blue and yellow tabards, though their expressions were guarded. Nilfgaard's presence in Redania to the south had clearly unsettled the region, and while Kaedwen officially maintained a measure of neutrality, tensions still simmered just beneath the surface.

Graden rode ahead with the papers, his demeanor calm and professional. He dismounted gracefully, handing the documents to the officer in charge. The Kaedweni captain, a broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard, flipped through the paperwork, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced up at the group.

"That... thing," he said, motioning toward Uma, who was strapped carefully to the back of one of the wagons. "What is it?"

"An unfortunate victim of a curse, we're trying to find a way to lift the curse from him if we can, which is why we're headed this way." Graden replied.

The Kaedweni captain raised an eyebrow at the explanation, his gaze shifting to Uma, who sat hunched and motionless on the wagon. The malformed figure seemed almost to shrink under the scrutiny, his bulbous eyes darting nervously. The captain stepped closer, studying Uma with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

"A curse, you say?" His voice was softer now, less accusatory. He leaned down slightly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Looks like a sad creature indeed. But curses... they don't break easily."

Graden remained steady, his calm demeanor unwavering. "That's precisely why we're headed to Kaer Morhen. The equipment and expertise we need to lift this curse can only be found there."

The captain straightened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced at the trees surrounding the road. The dense forest loomed on either side, the faint rustling of leaves carried by the cool wind. After a moment, he nodded, his expression thoughtful.

"Well, you've got a strange company," he said, gesturing toward the group, "but you don't look like trouble. And if you're trying to lift a curse... well, maybe the poor thing's got a chance." His tone was gruff, but there was a faint flicker of sympathy in his eyes. "Good luck. You'll need it."

He motioned for his men to step aside, and the caravan began to move forward once more. The Kaedweni soldiers watched in silence as the group passed through, their gazes lingering on Uma, Veylan, and Erynn.

As they continued down the road, Geralt rode up beside Veylan. "That went smoother than expected," he remarked, his tone dry.

Veylan smirked faintly. "Let's hope the rest of the trip does too."

Erynn, who had been quiet during the exchange, turned to look back at the Kaedweni checkpoint fading into the distance. "It's strange," she murmured. "He didn't seem hostile, just wary. Almost as if he's seen something like this before."

"Could be," Geralt said, his eyes fixed ahead. "Kaedwen's had its share of strange happenings over the years. Let's just be grateful they let us through without too many questions."

The group pressed onward, the trees gradually thinning as the road opened into rolling hills. The crisp air carried the faint scent of pine, and the sound of birdsong mingled with the creak of wagon wheels and the clatter of hooves.

…

The caravan continued its journey through Kaedwen, the rolling hills and dense forests offering little comfort to the travelers. The road was quieter than expected, but the tension was there.

Though the Kaedweni soldiers at the border had shown little hostility, whispers of unease drifted among the group.

As they rode on, murmurs from scattered travelers along the road began to reach their ears. Some groups of merchants and peasants passing by on foot or in wagons stole glances at Veylan and Erynn, their whispers low but not quiet enough.

"Is that him? The one they talk about down south?"

"They say he's got monster blood. And look at her, those eyes, like a foxes when looked at closely and that green glow in them?."

"Fits, doesn't it? Monsters with monsters."

Veylan's jaw tightened, the faint amber green glow in his eyes flickering as his patience was tested. For a moment, his claws instinctively began to extend, but then he glanced at Erynn. Her fiery hair framed her serene face as she sat tall in her saddle, seemingly unbothered by the whispers. Her emerald eyes, shimmering faintly like the forest in sunlight, held a quiet strength that spoke volumes.

Without a word, Veylan shifted closer to her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her gently into his side. She let her head rest on his shoulder, her delicate fingers brushing over his hand in a silent gesture of reassurance.

"I'm here, my love," he whispered softly, his voice steady and grounding. "Let them talk. They don't know you like I do."

Erynn smiled faintly, her expression calm as always, though the warmth in her eyes told him she appreciated his support. "They're afraid of what they don't understand," she murmured. "And that's all right. We don't need their understanding."

Her words soothed him, as they often did, and he relaxed, though his arm remained firmly around her. They continued on, ignoring the whispers and pointed stares. Let them see, he thought. Let them see strength.

Ahead of them, Geralt cast a glance over his shoulder, his expression as unreadable as ever. He caught sight of the way Veylan held Erynn and gave a subtle nod of approval. Whatever the world thought of them, it didn't matter.

Roach, riding just behind, smirked faintly as he caught the murmurs. "People talk too much," he muttered to Ves, his tone wry.

Ves chuckled. "At least they're just talking. With a reputation like his, I was expecting pitchforks."

"They wouldn't dare," Roach replied, his tone amused "Not with the way he's looking at her. You can feel the warning in it, any closer and they'll regret it."

Ves shook her head, a grin forming on his face. "Well, I'd hate to be the one to test him."

The whispers eventually faded as the caravan pressed on, the tension easing with every mile they traveled. But even as the voices fell silent, the weight of being watched lingered, hanging in the air like an invisible shadow. Veylan could feel it, a subtle itch at the back of his mind that refused to be ignored.

…

The caravan approached Kaer Morhen just as the sun began its descent. The imposing fortress came into view, its silhouette no longer the crumbling ruin it once was. The bridge, once a treacherous mess of gaps and decay, now stood tall and repaired, its repaired stonework gleaming faintly in the golden light.

Veylan tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes picking out figures moving about the grounds even from this distance. People were mingling to and from some hauling wood, others marking stones with runes or taking measurements. Among them were scholars, clad in Kaedweni garb, scribbling notes onto parchment while murmuring to one another.

"Seems the place is getting a makeover," Ves muttered, leaning forward in her saddle.

Roach nodded. "Looks like Vesemir found himself some generous benefactors. Nobles, maybe? Or scholars from Kaedwen."

"Likely both," Veylan murmured, his voice thoughtful. He glanced at the activity on the bridge and the grounds beyond. "This isn't just restoration. This is cataloging."

"Turning Kaer Morhen into a museum?" Erynn asked, her curious eyes scanning the scene.

"Or a university," Veylan replied. "Wouldn't be the worst idea."

As they approached, Veylan absently adjusted the rings on his fingers, a quiet habit he'd picked up over time. The ring from O'Dimm sat on his left index finger, dark and faintly humming with dormant power. On his right hand, the Ofeiri ring shimmered faintly in the sunlight, its intricate designs catching the light, while the Skellige ring with its bold runes sat proudly on his ring finger. The gesture was automatic, almost subconscious, but it spoke of the weight he carried, each ring a symbol of where he'd been and what he'd survived.

The caravan stopped just before the bridge, and a familiar figure stepped out from the crowd of workers. Eskel, clad in his well-worn Witcher armor, approached with an easy stride. His scarred face lit up with recognition as his eyes fell on Veylan and Erynn.

"Well, I'll be damned," Eskel said, a grin forming as he crossed the bridge toward them. "If it isn't the Witcher everyone's been talking about. And Lady Erynn who caused quite the stir down south." His gaze flicked to Geralt, and his grin widened. "Got your letter, Geralt. Thought you'd be showing up with a circus, but this... I didn't think I'd see them again so soon."

Veylan dismounted, helping Erynn down before clasping Eskel's forearm in greeting. "Eskel," he said with a nod. "Been a while."

"It has," Eskel replied, his tone warm. He glanced at Erynn. "Still sticking with him, I see. That patience of yours must rival Vesemir's."

Erynn laughed softly, her green eyes sparkling. "Someone has to keep him grounded."

Eskel chuckled, turning back to Geralt. "You didn't exaggerate in your letter. Seems like every scholar and noble from Kaedwen to Nilfgaard is curious about this place now. Vesemir's practically been running a university up here with the number of people traipsing through."

"Not exactly what I pictured," Geralt admitted as he dismounted. His sharp gaze flicked over the repairs. "But it's... good. The old keep could use the company."

"Vesemir's been keeping everyone in line," Eskel said. "The nobles sent funds to stabilize the structure, and Kaedweni scholars showed up to document everything. Seems your friend here," he gestured to Veylan, "inspired a bit of... academic curiosity with all those monster specimens."

Before they could respond, a figure appeared near the entrance to Kaer Morhen. Yennefer, dressed elegantly yet practically, stood waiting, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. As they drew closer, she smiled.

"Geralt," she said softly, stepping forward.

Geralt approached her, his usually stoic face softening. He placed a hand on her waist, leaning down slightly as she rested her head briefly on his shoulder. The tender moment was short but spoke volumes.

Yennefer's violet eyes shifted toward the rest of the group, her gaze lingering on Veylan and Erynn. "I see the infamous pair has made it to Kaer Morhen as well," she said with a faint smirk.

"Of course," Erynn replied, matching Yennefer's tone with a knowing smile. "Wouldn't miss the opportunity."

Yennefer nodded approvingly, her eyes flicking briefly to the rings on Veylan's fingers before she turned back to Geralt. "We'll discuss everything inside."

Eskel clapped Veylan on the shoulder as they began to move toward the keep. "You'll have to tell me the whole story later. Something tells me it's going to be worth a drink or two."

"More than a few," Veylan replied, his tone wry.

…

The atmosphere at Kaer Morhen buzzed with an unexpected liveliness, a mix of voices and movement that had been absent from the keep for a long time. As Geralt, Veylan, Erynn, and the rest of the group entered the courtyard, they were greeted by the sight of Lambert leaning casually against a stack of crates. He looked up, his sharp features twisting into a smirk.

"Well, well. The whole gang's here, plus a few extras," Lambert said, pushing off the crates and sauntering over. His gaze flicked to Veylan and Erynn. "You must be the infamous Witcher everyone's been talking about—and the fox-eared lady who's turned half the continent's scholars into poets."

Erynn smiled faintly, her emerald eyes gleaming. "I take it you're Lambert?"

"In the flesh," Lambert replied. "Try to keep up, alright? I don't want to have to explain everything twice."

Before anyone could respond, another voice cut in. "Charming as ever, Lambert," Kiera Metz said as she emerged from one of the hallways leading deeper into the keep. The sorceress had an air of casual elegance, her robes flowing behind her as she approached. "You might want to save your barbs for someone who cares."

Lambert rolled his eyes but said nothing as Kiera's attention shifted to the newcomers. Her gaze lingered on Veylan, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face. "You've been making waves," she remarked. "I've been eager to meet the Witcher who managed to supply universities with fresh, intact specimens."

Veylan nodded politely. "I've heard of your work as well, Kiera."

"Then we're even," she replied with a small smile.

As they continued into the main hall, Roach's eyes narrowed as he spotted a hulking figure leaning against a support beam near the far wall. It was Letho, the Viper School Witcher, his massive frame unmistakable. Roach frowned but held his tongue, though it was clear he wasn't thrilled about Letho's presence. Ves exchanged a glance with him but kept her thoughts to herself.

Geralt, noticing the tension, simply said, "He's here for a reason. Let it be."

Roach grunted but said nothing further, though his hand lingered near the hilt of his sword as they passed.

A familiar voice rang out as they approached the center of the hall. "Geralt!" Triss Merigold called, her warm smile lighting up her face as she approached. She embraced Geralt briefly, though the interaction carried none of the romantic tension it once did. Their relationship had shifted into a comfortable friendship, and both were at peace with it.

"Good to see you, Triss," Geralt said, his tone warm but casual.

As they pulled apart, Triss's gaze shifted to Eskel, who had just entered the hall. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the bustling activity around them seemed to fade. Triss blushed slightly, her cheeks tinged with pink, while Eskel gave her a small, genuine smile that reached his scarred features. Lambert, noticing the exchange, snorted softly but said nothing.

"Come on," Geralt said, gesturing toward the stairs. "Vesemir's waiting."

They climbed the stairs to the upper level, where Vesemir stood near a group of scholars. He was carefully instructing them on the handling of delicate instruments, his gruff voice tinged with patience. Several scholars were scribbling notes furiously, while others moved carefully between tables laden with jars containing griffon remains, organs, bones, and feathers preserved with precision.

When he noticed the group, Vesemir dismissed the scholars with a wave of his hand and turned to greet them. His sharp eyes settled on Veylan and Erynn, lingering for a moment before he smiled faintly.

"So," Vesemir said, his tone measured. "This is the Witcher I've been hearing so much about. And the lady who's got scholars scratching their heads."

Veylan inclined his head respectfully. "Vesemir. It's an honor."

Erynn stepped forward as she offered a small bow. "It's good to finally meet you. Geralt's spoken highly of you."

Vesemir chuckled, his expression softening. "Has he now? That's rare praise. Welcome to Kaer Morhen, both of you."

As they exchanged pleasantries, a few scholars hurried past, carrying jars and notes down to the basement where they would fill them with more specimens and then prepare them for shipments. The distant sound of clinking glass and murmured discussions echoed from below.

"They're working on that griffon you brought in," Vesemir explained, nodding toward the stairwell. "Word is, you managed to paralyze it without damaging the body. Impressive work."

"Thank you," Veylan replied. "It was a tricky formula when trying to put it into a sheep carcass, but it worked as intended."

Vesemir's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, his expression thoughtful. "You've done a lot for the Continent, whether people realize it or not. I'd say Kaer Morhen's lucky to have you here."

"Let's hope we stay lucky," Geralt interjected, his tone wry. "We've got enough trouble to deal with as it is."

Vesemir nodded, his smile fading slightly. "Then let's get to work. We've got a lot to prepare for."

…

The group gathered in one of the larger halls of Kaer Morhen, its stone walls echoing with quiet murmurs and the shuffling of papers as the sorceresses and Witchers prepared to examine Uma. The deformed figure sat hunched on a stool, his bulbous head twitching occasionally as his wide, watery eyes darted around the room. Geralt, Veylan, and Erynn stood nearby, flanked by Yennefer, Triss, Kiera, and Vesemir, who listened intently as Geralt explained the situation.

"Uma isn't just some cursed creature," Geralt began, his tone measured but serious. "He's an elven sage—an incredibly powerful one. But he's been afflicted with an elven curse, a spell so ancient and specific that it's nearly impossible to remove without knowing the exact wording."

Vesemir frowned, his arms crossed. "And you know the wording?"

Geralt nodded. "I do. I came across it while investigating the elven sage's refuge back in Velen. Kiera was with me then." He turned to her, and she inclined her head in agreement.

"Yes," Kiera added. "The spell was inscribed in the ruins, etched into the walls. It was unmistakable."

The room fell silent as Geralt spoke the words aloud, his gravelly voice resonating with a strange weight:

"Va'faill, elaine tedd aen inne. Va'en aen seidhe eu'mathre. Na'ven aen elven, eu'ssaiel."

Erynn staggered slightly, her face paling as she grabbed onto Veylan's arm for support. He immediately steadied her, concern flashing in his amber eyes. "Erynn, what is it?"

"That spell…" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's tied to legends of the Wild Hunt. Spells like this… they don't end well. They twist and destroy, leaving only pain in their wake."

The room grew heavier with tension as her words settled over them. Yennefer, ever pragmatic, stepped forward. "Then we don't have time to waste. If we're going to break this curse, we need to do it soon."

"But how?" Lambert interjected, his skepticism clear. "This isn't just some simple hex. It's a curse that's mutated his entire body. How do we even begin to undo that?"

Yennefer glanced at Veylan, a knowing look in her eyes. "We'll purge the magic out of him—completely. But it's going to hurt. Even if we succeed, this will be excruciating for Uma."

"Purge it how?" Eskel asked, his voice calm but curious.

Yennefer folded her arms, her violet eyes glinting with determination. "A modified version of the Trial of the Grasses. We'll rework the alchemical components to target the magical mutations instead of enhancing them. The goal will be to cleanse his body, not mutate it further."

Lambert snorted, shaking his head. "You're talking about redefining the elixirs themselves. That's not exactly something you can just whip up in a cauldron. How do we know it'll even work?"

"We don't," Yennefer admitted. "But it's our best chance."

Veylan, who had remained quiet until now, stepped forward. "I can make it work."

All eyes turned to him as he continued. "We'll use a bit of my blood in the mixture."

"Your blood?" Vesemir asked raising an of Form

Veylan nodded. "The Elder Blood within me has purged curses before. It burns through magical afflictions and repairs the damage left behind. If we incorporate it into the elixirs, we can redefine their nature—make them act like antibodies instead of mutagenic compounds. It'll hurt Uma, yes, but it'll also heal him. As long as the sorceresses monitor him throughout the process, it should work."

Triss looked thoughtful. "If your blood can stabilize the process… it might just be possible. But it's still incredibly risky."

"And what happens if it doesn't work?" Lambert pressed.

Veylan met his gaze evenly. "Then we try something else. But this is our best chance, and you know it."

Geralt stepped forward, his expression grim. "He's right. We've come this far, and every lead we have points to Uma being the key to finding Ciri. We can't stop now."

Vesemir sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Alright. We'll prepare the laboratory and get everything we need in place. If this goes wrong, though…"

"It won't," Veylan said firmly. "Not if we do this together."

Yennefer gave a curt nod. "Then we have no time to lose. Let's get to work."

The group dispersed, each member taking on their assigned tasks, the weight of what was to come settling heavily over them. Veylan and Erynn shared a quiet glance, the unspoken understanding between them clear: failure wasn't an option. Not this time.

…

The laboratory buzzed with frenetic energy, the air thick with the scent of crushed herbs, molten metals, and volatile alchemical reagents. Scholars, alchemists, and sorceresses moved in a synchronized dance of preparation, their hands steady but their eyes alight with curiosity and awe. At the center of it all, Veylan's blood sat in a magically sealed vial, pulsing faintly with a rhythmic, almost lifelike energy. The faint glow it emitted seemed to infuse the room with an otherworldly presence, commanding reverence and focus.

"Careful," one scholar cautioned as another reached for the vial, their gloved hands trembling slightly. "This isn't just any reagent, it's a catalyst unlike anything we've ever seen."

Under Yennefer's watchful gaze, the process began. Each elixir was crafted with painstaking precision, the components measured down to the last grain of powdered herbs or drop of distilled essence. Veylan's blood was added at key intervals, a single drop enough to alter the entire nature of the concoction. When it was introduced to the Phoenix Catalyst, the reaction was nothing short of spectacular. The liquid erupted in a controlled burst of flames, the vial glowing a brilliant orange before the fire receded into a serene, steady shimmer.

"I've never seen anything like it," one of the younger scholars whispered, his eyes wide with disbelief as he noted the changes in his journal. "His blood doesn't just enhance the elixirs—it transforms them."

Across the room, another scholar carefully swirled the Iridescent Renewal Serum in a crystalline flask, watching as its colors shifted like a living aurora. "It's as if it's rewriting the rules of alchemy entirely," she murmured, holding it up to the light. "We're not just making potions, we're creating miracles."

Nearby, Erynn observed the process with quiet wonder, her keen green eyes studying the swirling mixtures and faintly glowing runes etched onto the workstations. She leaned toward Veylan, who stood beside her, arms crossed, his amber gaze fixed on the unfolding work. "Your blood," she said softly, "it's not just Elder Blood, it's something more. Something... ancient."

Veylan gave a faint nod, his expression unreadable. "It's not just mine. It's what they made me into," he said quietly, his voice tinged with a mixture of pride and regret. "If this works, though... maybe it'll all mean something."

In the corner, Uma sat silently, his grotesque form hunched on a sturdy chair. His bulbous eyes flickered faintly as if he could sense the weight of the room's efforts, though his muttering was incomprehensible. Yennefer spared him a glance, her sharp features softened momentarily by an unspoken determination. "Let's hope these miracles work," she said, her voice cutting through the hum of activity. "We'll need every single one if we're to break this curse."

The scholars exchanged glances, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. The air seemed to shimmer with possibility as another batch of elixirs was completed, their radiant hues placed carefully onto a reinforced rack. Bottom of Form

…

The room was silent save for the soft hum of magic that filled the air, Uma lay on the sturdy table at the center of the room, his grotesque form unnaturally still, his wide, bulbous eyes staring up at the ceiling. Around him stood Geralt, Yennefer, Trish, Kiera, Veylan, Erynn, and the scholars, their expressions a mixture of hope and apprehension. The moment of truth had arrived.

Yennefer held the first elixir in her hands, its shimmering, emerald-green liquid glowing faintly. She glanced at Veylan, who stood at her side, his amber eyes steady and calm despite the weight of the task ahead. "Let's begin," she said softly.

The first potion was carefully administered, a single drop placed on Uma's cracked lips. The room tensed as the grotesque figure swallowed, his body twitching faintly. Yennefer began to chant in Elder Speech, her voice clear and commanding. Erynn joined her, their voices weaving together in an ancient, harmonious cadence.

At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then, slowly, Uma's form flickered, as if an unseen veil had been momentarily disturbed. His grotesque features softened ever so slightly, and a faint, melodic whisper of Elven words escaped his lips: "Aen Saevherne..." He paused, his lips twitching as if trying to form more coherent speech. "...Uma... Aen..."

The scholars exchanged wide-eyed glances, scribbling notes furiously. Geralt and Veylan stood motionless, their focus locked on Uma.

The second elixir, a radiant gold, was poured with equal care, and this time, Uma's body relaxed completely. His breathing steadied, and the monstrous tension in his limbs seemed to ease. He blinked slowly, his eyes flickering with the faintest trace of intelligence.

With each potion and incantation, the transformation deepened. Uma's malformed features flickered again, the magical residue of the curse peeling away like smoke dissipating into the air. By the fifth elixir, his voice began to take on clarity. "I... see it," he murmured, his tone becoming stronger. "I remember... the stars... the fog..."

Yennefer's hands were steady as she prepared the sixth potion, her voice sharp with authority. "We're close. One more."

The final elixir, crafted with a drop of Veylan's blood, was brought forward. The room seemed to hold its breath as Veylan placed a reassuring hand on Uma's shoulder, as he whispered in Elder Speech, "Aen illesi, taen en'viele..." ("Be at peace, return to yourself.")

As the last drop touched Uma's lips, his entire body shimmered, flickering violently between his grotesque form and something else—something regal and ancient. A final wave of magical energy surged through the room, a blinding light filling every corner.

When it subsided, Uma was gone. In his place sat a tall, lithe figure, his silver hair cascading around his sharp, angular features. Avallac'h, the elven sage, blinked as he took in his surroundings. His piercing gaze swept over the room, landing first on Geralt, then Yennefer, and finally Veylan and Erynn. His expression froze as he studied Veylan.

"A son of Elder Blood..." Avallac'h murmured, his voice laced with awe and disbelief. "This... cannot be."

Veylan's amber eyes met Avallac'h's steadily, though his jaw tightened. He remained silent, letting Geralt take the lead.

"Avallac'h," Geralt said evenly, his voice cutting through the lingering tension. "You know who I am. And you know why we're here."

The elven sage inclined his head faintly. "Yes. You seek the child. Cirilla. Zireael."

"Where is she?" Geralt asked, his tone calm. "We need to find her before the Wild Hunt does."

Avallac'h's gaze grew distant, as if recalling some long-lost memory. "She is safe... for now. She hides on an island, a place shrouded in magical fog. The Isle of Mists. I know the way there. When the time comes, I will guide you."

Geralt nodded slowly, his relief tempered by the gravity of the revelation. "Then we have a chance."

Avallac'h's focus shifted back to Veylan, his expression unreadable. "Much has changed since the curse was laid upon me. And yet, I see that some truths remain. Tell me, Witcher," he said, his voice steady but curious, "what has the world made of you, a son of Elder Blood?"

Veylan crossed his arms, his claws flexing faintly as he replied, "Someone who doesn't back down from what's right."

The sage's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though his eyes remained shadowed with unanswered questions. "It seems... much remains to be discussed."

…Bottom of Form

The elven sage had regained much of his composure, though the faint raise of his eyebrows suggested his mind was still processing the shock of his transformation, and the revelations about the young Witcher standing before him.

While Geralt prepared for the journey to the Isle of Mists, Avallac'h turned his attention to those gathered in the room. Vesemir, Eskel, Erynn, and a few scholars lingered nearby, their expressions a mix of caution and curiosity. Veylan stood at the edge of the room, quietly observing, his arms crossed.

The scholars, Eskel, Erynn, and Vesemir exchanged glances, deciding who would begin explaining the truth of Veylan's nature.

It was Eskel who finally spoke, his voice steady and measured. "You're looking at something that shouldn't be possible. Veylan isn't just a Witcher; he's the result of experiments conducted by alchemists and rogue researchers who sought to combine the strengths of monsters with human resilience."

Avallac'h's gaze sharpened. "Monsters? Explain."

Erynn stepped forward, her voice calm but carrying an edge of protectiveness. "Veylan carries the essence of many creatures in his blood. Some of these mutations were forced upon him through experimentation, while others came from his lineage."

Vesemir, ever the teacher, elaborated, "His abilities and characteristics stem from a unique blend of Elder Blood and monstrous hybrids. Here's what we've identified so far:"

Avallac'h paced the room, his silver eyes darting between the gathered scholars and Veylan, who stood at ease but radiated quiet strength. The elven sage's expression was a mixture of intrigue and disbelief. "You're telling me," he began, his tone careful, "that this... Witcher... has been fused with traits of monsters? That he not only survived such experiments but uses those abilities?"

Vesemir, his voice steady with years of experience, nodded. "He's not just any Witcher. Veylan's the result of what should've been impossible. For instance, he carries the essence of a Leshen."

Avallac'h's eyes instantly shot up at that. "A primal bond. Remarkable."

"Remarkable doesn't even cover it," Vesemir continued. "He can control roots, vines, and forest life. He's terrifyingly effective in any wooded environment."

Erynn stepped in, her voice carrying, some regret but mostly warmth. "He also has traits from a Kikimora. His reflexes and agility are beyond anything we've seen, but it comes with... risks. There's a bloodlust if he pushes himself too far."

"Insectoid traits in a Witcher," Vesemir added grimly. "Unthinkable."

Eskel chimed in, his eyes never leaving Veylan. "Then there's his strength and durability. Rock troll traits. He can harden his body temporarily, like turning to stone."

"That explains the stone-like skin. ," Eskel muttered.

Avallac'h tilted his head, intrigued. "Supernatural strength, forest mastery... and amphibious physiology? I can sense it," he said, studying Veylan closely. "Drowner abilities. He can survive underwater and breathe in harsh conditions."

"That's right," Vesemir said. "And it's saved him more than once."

The sage's lips thinned as he continued his assessment. "And his regeneration... I can only assume this ties to his vampire lineage?"

Erynn nodded, her voice softer. "His maternal grandfather was a Higher Vampire. That's where his rapid regeneration comes from."

Avallac'h's expression darkened. "A connection to vampires… troubling."

"Perhaps," Veylan said evenly, his voice calm. "But it's part of what keeps me alive—and able to help others."

Vesemir gestured toward Veylan. "He also has the essence of a Marr. He can consume nightmares, purge fears, and lift curses. He saved Anna, the Bloody Baron's wife, with that ability."

"That's not all," Erynn added. "He can dissolve into mist, a Foglet ability. It's rare, but he can use it for stealth."

Avallac'h took a sharp breath, his expression shifting. "A creature of the swamps... contributing to this?"

"It's an edge in a fight," Vesemir said. "And then there's his ability to shift his appearance slightly. Changeling traits. It's unstable, but it's saved him more than once."

"A predator's agility as well," Eskel added, his tone admiring. "Basilisk traits. He can leap great distances with precision."

Avallac'h studied Veylan, his intrigue deepening. "Venom resistance. Royal Wyvern traits?"

"Exactly," Vesemir said. "It's why he's able to shrug off most venoms and poisons better than most Witchers especially the kind that come from basilisks, cockatrice's and insectoids."

"And let's not forget his senses," Erynn said. "Gryphon traits. Sight, hearing, balance, all unparalleled."

Avallac'h took a step back, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Veylan in silence for a moment. "A son of Elder Blood, intertwined with creatures of chaos and power. And he has endured this... and thrived?"

Veylan shrugged, his voice calm, "Pretty much. Though I prefer to use my abilities to help people rather than harm them. And that extends to non-destructive creatures, too."

The elven sage studied him for a long moment before speaking. "You are remarkable, Veylan. The gods and the Wild Hunt both must be watching you closely."

Avallac'h's gaze sharpened, his curiosity far from sated. "And your Elder Blood," he said, his voice carrying a mixture of reverence and wariness. "What unique powers has it awakened in you?"

Veylan exchanged a glance with Erynn, who gave him an encouraging nod. He turned back to the sage, his amber eyes glowing faintly. "I've learned that I can push back the White Frost," he said simply.

The room seemed to hold its breath as the weight of his words sank in. Even Avallac'h, who had witnessed countless feats of Elder Blood, appeared taken aback. "Push it back?" he echoed. "Explain."

"It's like fire meeting ice," Veylan continued. "When I focus my energy, the frost... melts. Not in a physical sense, but in its essence. It's not just resistance—it's obliteration. A counterforce, pure and primal."

Avallac'h's expression darkened as he processed this revelation. "You can undo the very fabric of the White Frost's encroachment. That is... extraordinary."

"There's more," Vesemir interjected. "He's mastered a unique ability to create spectral copies of himself."

"Copies?" Avallac'h asked, intrigued.

Veylan nodded, his tone measured. "I can summon up to a dozen spectral versions of myself. They're not just illusions, they can act independently for a brief time, fighting or distracting enemies. It's exhausting, but in the right situation, it turns the tide."

Erynn added, her voice soft but proud, "It's not just brute power. His copies are extensions of his will, his focus. They don't just mimic—they think, they adapt."

Avallac'h leaned back, his arms crossed as his mind raced. "You melt the White Frost and command echoes of yourself. Powers tied directly to Elder Blood's chaotic essence, yet refined to a degree I've rarely seen."

Veylan shrugged, his tone humble despite the magnitude of his abilities. "I've had time to figure it out. And I'm still learning."

Avallac'h's gaze lingered on him, his admiration tempered by a growing unease. "The Wild Hunt will stop at nothing to take you. If what you've described is true, you are not just a son of Elder Blood. You are its embodiment, a force that defies even the frost itself."

"They already tried that," Erynn said simply, meeting Avallac'h's gaze. "Back in Velen. The Wild Hunt came for him. That's how we learned he could push back the White Frost."

Avallac'h's eyes felt like dinnerplates at this point.

"They confronted you directly?"

Veylan nodded, a grim expression settling on his face. "It wasn't subtle. A full-on ambush. Their hounds, their riders, they thought they had me cornered."

Erynn continued, her voice tinged with both pride and lingering anger. "When the hounds got too close, they faltered. It was like the air around him burned them, suffocating their connection to the frost. And the frost itself… it melted under his presence. That's when we realized his abilities go beyond anything we've ever seen."

Avallac'h leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "And his blood? I'm guessing that you somehow helped me with your blood?"

Erynn nodded. "His blood doesn't just heal, it purges. Curses, foul magics, even residual corruption. That's how we were able to heal you so quickly. It burns through the unnatural like a purifying flame." She hesitated before adding, "And then there's his undying nature."Bottom of Form

Avallac'h felt his jaw drop slightly, "Undying nature?"

Veylan gave a faint, humorless chuckle, lifting his shirt slightly to reveal faint scars on his chest and neck that were apparently going away over time. "There was an incident, a sword through the chest, straight through the heart. And at the same time, a blade through the neck and spine."

Erynn's hand tightened around Veylan's arm, her voice softening. "His vampire nature kept him from dying. Even wounds that should have been fatal couldn't keep him down for long. His regeneration is… extraordinary."

Avallac'h's shocked gaze moved between the two of them, as he absorbed this information. "The Wild Hunt fears him. His blood purges curses and burns through their frost. And he cannot be killed by conventional means."

Vesemir, standing quietly nearby, finally spoke, his voice a rumble of approval. "He's not just a Witcher or a son of Elder Blood. He's something entirely new. A force they can't understand, and that's why they're desperate to claim him."

Avallac'h nodded slowly, his expression a mixture of awe and calculation. "Then it's not just Ciri they're after. Veylan is a threat to their very existence. A weapon they cannot afford to leave unchecked."

Veylan shrugged again, his tone calm despite the weight of the conversation. "Let them come. They can learn the hard way, just like they did in Velen."

It was then that Geralt signaled he was ready, "I'm ready. The sooner we set out, the better." He turned his gaze to Yennefer, who had already begun preparing the portal spell.

Yennefer nodded, her hands weaving intricate patterns in the air as tendrils of violet energy coalesced into a shimmering gateway. "Avallac'h's lantern is attuned to the magic surrounding the Isle of Mists," she said, her voice steady. "It'll guide you through the fog and lead you to Ciri. Just don't lose it."

Avallac'h handed Geralt the enchanted lantern, its pale, unearthly light flickering softly. "The Wild Hunt cannot track her on that island," the elven sage explained. "But the journey through the mist will be perilous. That lantern will protect you from the illusions and help you navigate the dangers."

Eskel stepped up next, his usual calm demeanor tinged with determination. "I'm coming too," he said. "Whatever's waiting for us, we'll face it together."

Letho of Gulet, standing off to the side, crossed his arms and smirked. "Guess that makes three of us. Couldn't let you have all the fun, Geralt." His tone was dry, but his presence spoke volumes, he wasn't about to let the Wild Hunt claim another victory.

Veylan approached the group, his amber eyes meeting Geralt's. "Those bombs we worked on," he said, handing over a leather pouch filled with them. "They'll disperse curses and break the hold of creatures that thrive in darkness. Use them wisely, they pack a punch."

Eskel took the pouch, nodding in thanks. "We'll make good use of these. Thanks, Veylan."

As Yennefer's portal shimmered, fully formed, Veylan stepped back to Erynn's side. "Good luck," he said, "Find her and bring her back safe."

Geralt placed a hand on Veylan's shoulder briefly before stepping toward the portal. "We will."

Before stepping through, Geralt looked back one last time. "Veylan, the emperor trusts you to send word if she's safe. You've earned his respect—and mine. Keep Kaer Morhen standing while we're gone."

Veylan gave a faint smile. "You've got it."

With that, Geralt, Eskel, and Letho disappeared into the portal's shimmering light. The laboratory fell silent for a moment, the energy in the room shifting as the portal closed behind them.

Erynn rested a hand on Veylan's arm, her expression thoughtful. "Do you think the emperor will truly be satisfied knowing she's safe?"

Veylan nodded slowly. "I think so. He's a ruler, sure, but he's also her father. He might wish she'd chosen a different life, but he respects her path. Besides…" He glanced toward the scholars bustling around Kaer Morhen. "It's not like he'd risk everything he's built to pull her back unwillingly."

Yennefer, who had lingered nearby, crossed her arms. "Ehmyre may have his flaws, but he's pragmatic. He freed Fringilla Vigo and allowed her to rejoin the lodge. That's not the move of someone looking to control every aspect of his daughter's life, especially when we take into consideration the way he's spoken during those few times we spoke in private. He wants to know she's safe, that's all."

Veylan exhaled deeply, nodding. "I'll pen a letter to him. He'll have his answer when we know."

With the preparations concluded, Veylan turned his attention back to the work waiting for him in Kaer Morhen. Repairs, alchemical research, and preparing for whatever would come next. But for now, his focus was on keeping the ancient stronghold running smoothly and ensuring that Geralt's path forward remained clear.

Erynn leaned against him, her voice soft. "We'll be ready, we will be."

…

Later, while they waited for Geralt, Letho's and Lamberts return…

Avallac'h moved through the stone corridors of Kaer Morhen with measured steps, his sharp gaze taking in every detail. The ancient keep, steeped in history and the trials of Witchers past, now bustled with an energy he hadn't expected. Scholars and alchemists moved with purpose, cataloging specimens, transporting vials of mysterious substances, and engaging in hushed discussions about discoveries that could redefine their understanding of monsters.

Vesemir walked beside him, offering occasional comments on the keep's current state. "We've had a few... changes, thanks to Veylan. It's not often Witchers have the luxury of academic support."

Avallac'h raised an eyebrow. "The balance here is curious, between the old ways of the Witcher trials and the scientific rigor I see now. And Veylan... he has clearly brought something extraordinary."

They descended a staircase to the ground floor, where the faint hum of activity could be heard. At the center of the room, scholars were huddled around a massive, paralyzed griffon. The creature's golden feathers shimmered faintly under the torchlight, its vast wings spread out across a specially designed table.

"This one," Vesemir said, gesturing toward the griffon, "was brought in alive thanks to one of Veylan's concoctions. He managed to lure it into eating a sheep laced with a paralytic formula. It kept the creature immobilized for study."

Avallac'h's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, observing the meticulous dissection in progress. The scholars worked carefully, peeling back layers of feathers and muscle, while noting details about the creature's anatomy. "Remarkable. Griffons are notoriously difficult to capture, much less keep intact."

One of the scholars, a young man with ink-stained fingers, glanced up. "Master Veylan's techniques have allowed us to study creatures we could never have safely examined before. He's revolutionized how we approach the understanding of monsters."

Avallac'h said nothing, but his lips tightened in thought as he turned to follow Vesemir deeper into the laboratory.

They passed rows of jars filled with preserved tissues, hearts, livers, claws, and even eyes, before arriving at another room where several glass-enclosed cages lined the walls.

Inside were Drowners and Nekkers, or rather what was left over for future study. As they floated there partially dissected.

"These are more standard specimens," Vesemir said. "Collected and cataloged for study. They're shipped to various universities for further analysis."

Avallac'h studied the cages. "Capturing them alive even only temporarily is no small feat. Veylan's methods must be... unconventional."

"You could say that," Vesemir replied with a wry smile.

The tour continued to another section of the underground chambers, where the air grew heavier with the acrid scent of chemicals. Here, several paralyzed rotfiends lay on tables, their grotesque forms eerily still. Their mottled, decaying skin glistened under the light, and their twisted faces were frozen in mid-snarl. A scholar stood nearby, meticulously packing severed limbs and other preserved parts into crates marked for shipment.

Avallac'h stopped short, his gaze fixed on the rotfiends. "These are... intact?"

The scholar turned, his expression proud. "Indeed, sage. Master Veylan discovered a method to halt their explosive reaction. By injecting a serum directly into their hearts, he neutralizes the chemical chain reaction that causes them to self-detonate. A second concoction paralyzes them completely, allowing us to study them without risk."

Avallac'h's gaze remained fixed on the rotfiend, his voice filled with reluctant admiration. "To stop a rotfiend's explosion... I didn't think it was possible."

"Neither did we," Vesemir said, folding his arms. "But Veylan doesn't think like most people. Where others see limits, he sees challenges."

The scholar added, "Thanks to him, we've shipped dozens of specimens to universities and guilds across the Continent. His work is changing the way monsters are understood—and how they're fought."

Avallac'h turned to Vesemir, "And to think, this is but one aspect of what he brings. It seems you have more than a Witcher in your keep, you have a force capable of reshaping the very fabric of what we know."

Vesemir inclined his head slightly. "He's a remarkable young man. And he's made Kaer Morhen... alive again, in ways I never thought possible."

Vesemir then decided to let him in on one last secret. As he turned to him and said, "Before we wrap it up I need to show you something that has the whole continent spooked."

Avallac'h's curiosity turned to cautious intrigue as Vesemir led him to a heavily guarded chamber deep within Kaer Morhen. The air grew colder as they descended, the faint hum of magical wards vibrating against his senses. Two heavily armored knights stood by the door, their hands resting on their steel rune inscribed swords, and nodded at Vesemir as he approached.

"We don't take chances with this room," Vesemir said grimly, gesturing for Avallac'h to follow him inside. "I wanted you to see this for yourself."

As the heavy door creaked open, Avallac'h's eyes immediately locked onto the grotesque forms lying on the large steel tables in the center of the room. The two specimens were cleaved in half, their upper torsos twitching sporadically, as if the abominations were still alive. Their bodies were a horrific blend of flesh, bone, and alchemical machinery. One resembled an Alghoul, its decayed, spiked features twisted further by the cruel addition of mechanical limbs, mutations and glowing tubes embedded into its chest. The other was unmistakably a Nekker, its wiry frame enhanced with pulsating alchemical engines that made its veins glow faintly beneath its mottled visibly overgrown form.

Avallac'h's breath hitched as he stepped closer, his elven senses overwhelmed by the unnatural energies radiating from the creatures. "By the heavens…" he muttered, his voice tinged with shock and disgust. "What in the name of the spheres is this?"

"These," Vesemir said, his tone heavy, "are the latest creations of the same people responsible for Veylan's mutations. We've been tasked with containing and studying them, but as you can see, they're unlike anything we've faced before."

One of the guards shifted uncomfortably as the Nekker's arm twitched again, its claws scraping weakly against the table. "Even cut in half, they're not entirely dead. The alchemical engines keep their bodies functional, like some kind of horrifying mockery of life."

Avallac'h leaned in closer, his sharp eyes scanning the intricate mechanisms grafted into the flesh. The alchemical components were intricately etched with runes, and strange, glowing vials were embedded into their torsos, humming faintly. "This… this technology," he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is not of this age. It's centuries, no, millennia ahead of anything I've ever encountered. Who could possibly have the knowledge to create such abominations?"

Vesemir nodded grimly. "That's what we're trying to figure out. These creatures were discovered during one of Veylan's investigations. The alchemists who made them clearly didn't just stop at human subjects, they've moved on to monsters as well."

Avallac'h's gaze darkened as he reached out, his fingers hovering above the glowing runes on the Alghoul's torso. "The craftsmanship… it's almost surgical in its precision. But to create something like this requires not just alchemical expertise, but a complete disregard for life itself. Whoever did this is a true monster."

The Nekker twitched again, and one of the scholars nearby jumped, clutching a clipboard to their chest. "Careful," the scholar warned. "The engines are still partially active. We've been dissecting them piece by piece, but their indifference is… troubling."

Avallac'h pulled his hand back, with horror written on his face, as he turned to Vesemir. "You're not just dealing with rogue alchemists anymore. This… this is a declaration of intent. They're experimenting with power far beyond what the Continent is prepared for. And if they've made creatures like these, who knows what else they're capable of?"

Vesemir crossed his arms, his jaw tight. "That's why we're taking this seriously. Every piece of these things is being cataloged and sent to trusted scholars and mages for analysis. We need to understand what we're dealing with before it's too late."

Avallac'h nodded slowly, his mind racing as he took one last, long look at the abominations on the tables. "This changes what was once possible," he said quietly. "If this knowledge spreads… it could plunge the Continent into chaos."

"Exactly," Vesemir said. "And that's why we need to stay one step ahead of whoever's behind this. Let's hope Geralt finds Ciri quickly. We're going to need all the help we can get."

…

Veylan stood in the sunlit courtyard of Kaer Morhen, watching as the Nilfgaardian couriers rode out through the gates, the letter to Emperor Emhyr safely tucked away. The weight of its contents still lingered on his mind. Updates on Uma, the grotesque alchemical creations, and the growing urgency to find Ciri. He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair before turning his attention back to the keep.

The morning air was brisk, carrying the faint sounds of hammering and sawing as scholars, soldiers, and laborers worked tirelessly to repair the ancient fortress. Veylan grabbed a pair of heavy gloves and strode toward the section of the wall still under construction. The massive breach had been a vulnerability for years, but with the newfound resources and support pouring in, thanks, in part, to his growing reputation, it was finally being fortified.

Grabbing a large stone slab with ease, Veylan placed it atop the growing wall as a pair of workers secured it in place with mortar. "This section should hold against any siege," he said, stepping back to admire their progress. "We'll need watchtower supplies next. Vesemir wants to set up a proper lookout station."

One of the workers, a grizzled man with a thick beard, chuckled. "With you here, Master Veylan, I doubt we'll need lookouts. You'd probably sense trouble before they even got close."

Veylan smirked faintly, but didn't reply. He moved on to the storage rooms, his next task. These chambers had been neglected for decades, filled with dust, cobwebs, and forgotten relics of Kaer Morhen's past. With a lantern in one hand, he stepped into the dim space, the light flickering against old crates and barrels stacked haphazardly.

He began clearing out the area, organizing the supplies and discarding what had deteriorated beyond use. As he pushed aside a particularly heavy crate, his claws scraped against something metallic. Intrigued, he crouched down and uncovered a hidden compartment. Inside were several ingots of meteorite ore, their dark surfaces gleaming faintly in the lantern light.

"Well, that's a surprise," he murmured, lifting one of the ingots. "Vesemir's going to be pleased."

Digging further, he unearthed another stash: stockpiles of silver weapons, including Witcher swords. Most were tarnished but intact, their craftsmanship a testament to the skills of the long-gone smiths who had forged them. Veylan examined one blade closely, running his finger along its edge. With a little restoration, these could be invaluable.

He hauled the discoveries to the main hall, where Vesemir was busy reviewing plans for the watchtower. The old Witcher looked up as Veylan entered, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the meteorite ore and weapons.

"By the gods," Vesemir muttered, stepping forward to inspect the haul. "I had no idea we still had this in the keep. This ore alone is worth a small fortune."

Veylan set the crate down with a thud. "Found it buried in the old storage rooms. Looks like whoever packed it away meant for it to stay hidden."

Vesemir's weathered face broke into a rare smile. "This will do more than help with repairs. We can forge new weapons, maybe even rebuild some of the armory."

"Glad I could help," Veylan replied, brushing the dust off his hands. "Anything else you need before I head back to clearing?"

Vesemir placed a hand on his shoulder. "You've already done enough. But if you're up for it, the southeast storage room could use a set of strong arms. There's talk of another hidden cache."

Veylan nodded, his amber eyes glinting with determination. "On it. I'll let you know if I find anything else useful."

…

Veylan made his way through the halls toward the southeast storage room Vesemir had mentioned. The air was stale, thick with dust and the scent of age. He reached the heavy wooden door and gripped the iron handle, but it didn't budge. Frowning, he gave it a harder tug, but the door remained stubbornly shut.

"Stuck," he muttered, planting his foot against the wall for leverage. He pulled again, and this time, there was a loud creak as something shifted behind the door. It moved an inch before stopping abruptly with a loud thud.

Veylan raised an eyebrow , and he leaned his shoulder into the door, pushing with all his strength. With a groan of protest, the door scraped open just enough for him to squeeze inside. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

A large crate, tipped on its side, had been blocking the door. Its lid had broken open, spilling its contents across the stone floor. Silver ingots, at least fifty of them, gleamed faintly in the light of his lantern. Nestled among them were dozens of runestones, their etched surfaces shimmering faintly with residual magical energy.

"What in the…" Veylan breathed, stepping further into the room. As he swung the lantern around, his jaw nearly dropped.

The room wasn't just cluttered; it was packed to the rafters with materials. Stacks of crates and barrels were piled high, many of them sealed with ancient wax stamps bearing the insignia of Kaer Morhen. He stepped closer, brushing the dust off one of the crates, and pried it open. Inside was a trove of gleaming iron ore, carefully packed and untouched by time.

He moved from crate to crate, his claws carefully prying open each lid. The discoveries only grew more impressive.

Silver Ingots – Over 300 ingots, neatly packed in several crates.

Runestones – Dozens of lesser and greater runestones, some with unknown markings.

Iron Ore – Hundreds of pounds of refined iron.

Copper Ingots – Three crates filled with polished copper.

Jade Fragments – A box filled with chunks of glistening green jade, highly rare and sought after for alchemical use.

Meteorite Ore – Two crates of deep gray ore with faint blue veins, glowing faintly under his lantern.

Dimeritium Shards – One crate of dull, bluish metal, vital for crafting anti-magic equipment.

Ruby Dust – A container filled with sparkling red powder, used in advanced alchemy.

Emerald Dust – Another box filled with powdered emeralds.

Dark Steel Ingots – Four crates of dark steel, used in forging superior weapons.

Adamantine Ore – A rare find, enough for a small batch of legendary armor.

Gold Nuggets – A crate filled with small but dense nuggets of pure gold.

Amethyst Shards – Glittering purple fragments stored in a wooden box.

Cured Leather – Several rolls of thick, treated leather, perfectly preserved.

Monster Bone Fragments – A barrel of larger bones, likely harvested from some long-forgotten hunt.

Infused Crystals – Crystals humming faintly with magical energy, contained in a sturdy wooden chest.

Sulfur and Phosphorus – Two barrels packed with volatile compounds, used in explosive recipes.

Near the back of the room, something else caught his attention. Beneath a heavy layer of cobwebs were several sets of armor hanging on old wooden racks. Veylan approached, brushing the webs away to reveal what lay beneath. These weren't just any armors—they were Witcher armors.

Wolf School Gear – A complete set of ancient Wolf School armor, including reinforced chest plates, gauntlets, and greaves.

Bear School Armor – A heavily plated set designed for maximum defense, its size suggesting it was crafted for a particularly large Witcher.

Viper School Gear – A sleek, lightweight set, clearly made for agility and precision.

Griffon School Armor – A medium-weight set with intricate engravings, designed for combat and magic balance.

Veylan leaned back against one of the crates, taking it all in. "Vesemir's going to have a heart attack when he sees this," he muttered to himself, a small grin forming on his face.

…

The sound of heavy boots echoed through the halls of Kaer Morhen as the men worked tirelessly to move the contents of the long-sealed storage room into the main hall. The air was filled with the metallic clink of ingots and the muffled thud of crates being set down. Vesemir, who had been overseeing repairs on the keep's southern wall, entered the hall just as the first few loads of materials were being sorted.

"What's all this commotion?" Vesemir asked, his weathered face creasing in mild irritation. His tone shifted the moment his eyes landed on the silver ingots being stacked neatly along one wall. His eyes slowly widened as he stepped closer, running a hand over the polished surface of one of the ingots. "Where in blazes did all this come from?"

Veylan appeared from the side, brushing cobwebs off his shoulders and gesturing toward the open storage room. "South storage room. Took me a while to pry the door open. It was packed floor to ceiling with this."

Vesemir's eyes widened as he took in the full scale of what was being brought out. His boots carried him toward the other piles: crates of meteorite ore, barrels of sulfur and phosphorus, and a box of glowing infused crystals. His gaze settled on the jade fragments and gold nuggets being carefully arranged on a table by the scholars, and he shook his head in disbelief.

"By Melitele's mercy," Vesemir muttered, running a hand through his graying hair. "I thought that room was just a dumping ground for junk. We've had this under our noses the whole time?"

Veylan smirked. "Apparently. Though I doubt anyone expected it to hold this much. It's enough to keep Kaer Morhen supplied for years."

Vesemir knelt beside a crate of runestones, carefully picking one up and turning it over in his calloused hands. The faint magical energy pulsing from the stone made his lips tighten in thought. "Runestones, ingots, crafting materials… This isn't just a supply cache. It's a treasure trove. Whoever stored this had plans for it."

He straightened and looked toward the back of the hall, where several Witcher armors were being displayed on wooden racks. His eyes immediately landed on the Wolf School armor, its intricate engravings still visible despite the passage of time. Vesemir approached the set slowly, his fingers tracing the edges of the chest plate.

"This belonged to the old guard," he said quietly, a hint of reverence in his voice. "I remember seeing armor like this when I was a boy, training under the first generation of Wolf School Witchers. I never thought I'd see it again."

One of the workers hauling a crate of iron ore called out, "There's more back in the storage room, Master Vesemir. Boxes upon boxes of rare materials, even some alchemical components we've never seen before."

Vesemir turned to Veylan, his expression a mixture of astonishment and gratitude. "You've given us more than just resources, Veylan. This is a lifeline. With this, we can reinforce the keep, arm ourselves, and even start rebuilding what we've lost."

Veylan shrugged, "Figured you'd appreciate it. You might want to make a list of everything before the scholars start carting it off to universities."

Vesemir chuckled, a rare sound that lightened the tension in the hall. "Don't worry. I'll make sure this stays where it's needed most. Kaer Morhen comes first."

As the workers continued to move materials, Vesemir glanced back at Veylan. "You've done a lot for us already, lad. More than I could've asked for. But with all this…" He gestured toward the bustling activity. "You've given us hope. Kaer Morhen might finally be more than just ruins."

Veylan nodded, the weight of the find settling on him as he watched the scholars marvel over the rare metals and magical components. "Happy to help, Vesemir. It's about time Kaer Morhen became what it was always meant to be, a home, a legacy."

Vesemir clapped a hand on Veylan's shoulder, his eyes gleaming with pride. "You're making it happen, boy. One step at a time."