POV Aiden Just as promised, the very next morning after we woke up, Geralt started training me though for now, it was mostly about knowledge.
He had several books on him, picked up over the course of his travels, which he’d hand me to read while we rode.
Ciri had named my mare Nocturne, because of her black coat, and since it seemed to make her happy, I’d accepted the name without arguing.
The fact that I spent a good chunk of my time studying had ended up bothering Ciri a little.
Instead of pestering me directly, she’d started grilling Geralt with all kinds of questions and true to form, he quickly grew tired of it.
But Ciri being Ciri, and convinced I was now “too focused on studying because of him,” she got her revenge her own way: she gave the witcher no peace at all, except at night, when she’d fall asleep sprawled against me, as if she hadn’t slept in weeks.
Sometimes Geralt would come back with monster carcasses and teach us, right then and there, how to tell an alghoul apart from a plain ghoul despite the infernal stench, since they both belong to the necrophage family.
I had to personally dig through a gargoyle’s corpse myself: according to Geralt, “practice makes perfect.” I won’t lie: after several sessions of rummaging through those carcasses for ingredients, I ended up throwing up, completely overwhelmed by the smell.
As for sword training, we’d sometimes stop early so he could teach me the Wolf School’s footwork pretty tough to master, almost like a musical score where every step has to land exactly on beat.
From what he explained, each witcher school has its own specialty: the Griffin focuses on Signs, the Cat on cunning and agility, the Viper on gear and close-combat techniques, the Bear on brute strength, the Manticore on dexterity, and the Wolf his own on counterattacks, dodging, and parrying.
I even got the chance, once, to face down a real monster though I’ll admit the experience was pretty strange.
— Flashback POV Aiden I was hiding in a bush with Geralt.
He pointed at a drowner sitting on the beach, licking its leg, and asked calmly: “What can you tell me about this monster?” I studied it for a moment and answered: “A drowner I’d say a fairly young one, given the lighter markings.
Separated from the main group, judging by the lack of tracks in the sand around it.” He nodded.
“You’re right, but you missed something: look closely at its eyes slightly red.
That means it’s been in a recent fight, and it’s licking its wounds now, even though most of them have already healed.
With drowners, that kind of behavior is pretty animal-like usually just a way to clean their injuries.” He handed me his silver sword.
“I’ll let you handle this one.” Surprised, I nodded seriously anyway and took the weapon.
Ciri, quiet until then, crouched beside us, murmured: “Be careful.” I smiled at her, then stepped slowly toward the drowner, sword gripped in both hands.
The creature caught my scent, spotted me, let out a bestial screech, and charged.
Rule number one: never parry a monster’s attack head-on.
I dodged its leap and sliced its leg on the way past.
It howled in pain then did something that caught me off guard: it let out a shrill cry toward the sky, as if calling for backup.
Turning around, I saw two more drowners burst out and charge straight at me.
I dodged the first, which leapt at me in turn, but had to jump back to avoid the second one’s claws.
I was already thinking through a strategy as both of them prepared to attack again.
I tried something: I charged at them.
One leapt, the other swung its claws but remembering the footwork Geralt had just taught me, I planted my left foot firmly, pivoted, dodging both attacks in a single motion, then struck the clawing drowner square across the belly, killing it instantly.
Before the other could get back up, I drove the sword straight through its skull.
Breathing out in relief, I saw Geralt and Ciri applauding.
Geralt said: “Nice work.
I’ll let your mistake with that first drowner’s cry slide” he finished off the wounded one with a stab of his steel sword straight through the heart “but remember this well: a young drowner acts like an animal, kind of like a baby calling for its mother when it’s in trouble.
Most young necrophages do the same except alghouls and a few other species but with drowners and ghouls, the young almost always call their parents in as backup.” I nodded and handed the silver sword back.
Ciri asked: “Can I hold it?” Geralt simply answered: “No.” She pouted.
“Come on!” I tried to keep a straight face watching their little back-and-forth, but I already knew how it would end: after a long sigh, Geralt finally handed her the sword.
Thrilled, she wandered off a bit to try imitating my footwork.
Geralt went on: “Good work on the footwork.
It’s not perfect yet your center of gravity still leans a bit too far left but it’s something we can build on.” I was listening closely to his advice when he handed me his knife, pointing at the drowner corpses with an amused smile: “I’m sure you’ve missed the smell of wet carrion.
Go on, harvest their brains.” I sighed, took the knife, muttering “Sadist,” then leaned in, holding my breath or at least trying to convince my brain to forget the smell and got to work.
Behind me, Geralt added, calm: “Don’t worry, your nose’ll get used to it eventually.
Drowner brain is one of the ingredients in Swallow potion.
You told me Mousesack trained you in potions and herbalism?
Then you’ll be the one brewing this one we’re officially adding witcher potions to your training.” Ciri, curious, wandered over.
“Looks like a moldy old candy, that brain.” I sighed, looking at her.
“Why’d you have to say that?
I’m never gonna be able to eat candy again now, that’s all I’m gonna see.” She shrugged, a teasing smile on her face.
“Oh well, more candy for me then.” Then she went back to training with Geralt, like she’d asked him to do several times already.
End of flashback — POV Aiden Arriving in a fairly quiet village, I saw the locals pointing at Geralt, muttering “mutant,” some with open disgust.
Ciri was seething, but I shook my head and murmured to her: “Even if you’re mad, Ciri, it won’t do any good.” She looked at me.
“But…” Geralt, still on his horse, said calmly: “Aiden’s right.
Their prejudice runs too deep.
There’s no point fighting it.” Arriving at the inn, we left Roach and Nocturne at the stables, then walked in Geralt in front, Ciri by my side.
We clearly heard some of the patrons grumbling in disgust: “I ain’t eating next to a mutant,” “They say they steal kids, don’t they?
You think those are his prisoners?”, “A witcher’s worse than a leper, don’t get close.” It made me angry, obviously, but I kept myself more composed than Ciri, who looked ready to explode.
I put a hand over her mouth and shook my head.
“Ciri, no.
It gets to me too, this whole thing.
But look at Geralt he’s not reacting.
All we can do is stand by him and respect his call.” She nodded, though not without shooting a few dark looks at the patrons.
As we approached Geralt, already deep in conversation with the innkeeper, we heard the man apologizing: “Forgive them, witcher Cintra’s fall has everyone on edge.” Geralt shook his head.
“Don’t worry about it, I’m used to it.
We’d like somewhere to sleep, if that’s possible.” The innkeeper apologized.
“All I can offer is some benches.” Geralt nodded, pulled out a bottle of rum, set down four crowns, then three more.
“That’ll do.
Bring us something to eat too.” We followed him to a quiet corner of the room.
The moment she sat down, Ciri couldn’t hold it in anymore and demanded, furious: “Geralt, why aren’t you doing anything?” He sighed softly, pouring himself a drink.
“Unfortunately, what do you want me to do?
Yell?
That’d just rile up the crowd more.
Get even?
That’d just prove to everyone that witchers are killers and our reputation’s already tarnished enough thanks to the Cat School.
So unfortunately, Ciri, it’s better to just take it in silence.” I pulled our bottle of milk out of my bag, poured a glass for Ciri and one for myself, right as the innkeeper brought over chicken legs, salad, and beans.
While we ate, Ciri muttered into her plate: “It’s not fair.” Geralt smiled softly at her.
“Unfortunately, life isn’t fair.” I gently stroked her hair.
“Geralt’s right.
You can convince one person, face to face but convincing a whole crowd, that’s like asking your grandmother to cancel your etiquette lessons: goes in one ear, out the other.” She burst out laughing.
“Idiot I never had to ask Grandma.
I just skip class.” We kept eating, laughing, trading stories about Calanthe.
I even caught Geralt cracking a faint smile a couple of times.
Once we’d finished eating, he pulled out a deck of cards.
“You two know gwent?” We both shook our heads; he explained the rules.
Ciri picked the Scoia’tael faction, I took the Northern Realms, and I faced off against Geralt who, how should I put it… Was terrible….
Genuinely terrible….
Whether he played me or Ciri, he got wiped off the board every time.
Playing against Ciri, though, was a real challenge even though I won most of the time, because the second she got a weather card in hand, her sly little smile gave it away instantly.
The hours slipped by.
Geralt stayed half-awake, meditating on his bench, while Ciri and I eventually drifted off, huddled together in a corner, warm and safe from the rain.
(What deck were you using?
Personally, Northern Realms.) — POV Geralt Listening to the rain drumming outside, I glanced out the window at the drops splattering on the ground, then turned my gaze back to the children, sleeping peacefully.
Day by day, spending time with them, I found myself growing more attached to Ciri’s stubborn spirit, and to Aiden’s constant drive to improve.
Honestly, I felt a particular closeness to Aiden.
Sometimes I saw a bit of myself in him a boy who never really chose his path, but had it forced on him by fate instead.
I’m sure that if he’d been given the choice, he’d have stayed in Cintra, by Ciri’s side.
But fate decided otherwise.
Unlike me, though, I intend to give him what I never had: real protection, real guidance.
Even though Vesemir is something of a father figure to me, I still think of him more as a mentor than a real father.
I sighed, drinking from my cup, eyes on the rain, not noticing a bald merchant watching the children from a distance, at the edge of the forest before turning his gaze toward me, then vanishing into the trees, whistling.
— General POV, in the forest Still whistling, he smiled and murmured: “So the swallow’s child found the White Wolf, huh.
Funny old thing, fate, showing me this boy too.
I thought the P…” A sudden gust of wind rose up, as if to swallow the bald merchant’s voice.
The wind died down.
The man laughed softly.
“I really am curious whether this world will survive.
For now, I’ve got a debt to collect von Everec.
But either way, we’ll meet again, my dear boy.” Then the figure faded into the darkness of the forest, still whistling the same tune.