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Alone in the woods stood a small stone cabin with a withered grass roof. The cabin seemed average enough, if it weren’t for the fact that it was in the middle of nowhere, hours ride from any town, with no road or trail access to speak of. If he didn’t know better the white wolf would have thought it abandoned. The child riding on Roach behind him tightened her grip on the back of his tunic, unsettled by the eerie silence of the woods around them. A firm nudge of his heel urged Roach closer to the cabin, the horse seemed as pleased with this course as the tense girl behind him. When they were still several yards from the cabin he dismounted Roach then lifted Ciri to join him on the ground. Once his horse was tethered to a nearby tree, the pair started toward the cabin.
“Are you sure we need to do this,” Ciri asked behind him in a hushed tone.
Golden eyes glanced back at her and a grunt in the positive was all the reaction she was going to get out of him. They came up to the front door of the cabin and Geralt tried the door, only to find it swing wide open when no lock engaged. With a raised eyebrow he stepped forward, intent on examining the inside of the cabin, when he felt as if he had walked face first into a wall.
“And who, exactly, is trying to enter my home uninvited,” a distinctly feminine voice asked from the darkness within the cabin that not even Geralt’s eyes could penetrate.
A huff of annoyance escaped the witcher before he answered, “We’ve come to speak to Aleski.”
Suddenly, as if someone had opened a shutter, light poured out of the cabin doorways and windows. The pair could see now the interior of the cabin, a small space composed of a single room with a fireplace against the wall to the right of the door, a bed near the fireplace, and stacks of books lining the walls. In a single chair near one of the two front windows sat an unexpectedly young woman. She had bright green eyes; long, straight ginger hair; and pale skin splattered with light freckles across her nose.
“Well are you going to stand there all day or will you come in?” The white haired man tried putting his hand through the doorway first, and when he met with no resistance he recognized that the enchantment on it had been lifted and stepped through. “Why are you looking for me?” Piercing green eyes stared intently at him, passing over Ciri for the time being.
“I’ve heard tell that you can see the woven strands of destiny,” the witcher did a poor job of hiding his disdain for the word.
For a moment green eyes stared at gold in silence, then she finally shifted her gaze to the child standing behind him. Her expression gave nothing away as she stood and walked over to the fireplace, which had a tea kettle sitting in the ashes near enough to the low fire to stay warm, and poured herself a mug. She then walked over and sat on the bed pointing Geralt to the chair.
“Are you sure that is what you want, witcher,” her tone held none of the contempt nor malice for his kind with which he had become accustomed.
“It’s the last thing I want, but it is what we need,” Geralt grumbled as he gently guided the former princess to take the chair, electing instead to remain standing beside it.
“And you, princess, what do you want?”
Ciri glanced at Geralt in alarm, “How do you know I’m a princess?”
“You wear the title as one wears a cloak, though I doubt you mean to. But you, Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, the Plentiful Valleyman, the Ultimate Witcher, you collect titles like a hunter collects horns. Yet none truly suit you. What do you want?” The question was directed at the younger girl.
Ciri timidly met the woman’s gaze, and responded barely above a whisper, “to know the truth.”
“Very well.” The woman set the mug of tea she had been sipping on on the stone floor beside the bed and turned her gaze on Ciri and Geralt.
The change in her was subtle, enough so that Ciri did not notice it, but Geralt did. Her breathing slowed and her posture straightened almost imperceptibly, but the true change was her eyes. If they had been piercing before, now they were like daggers, and as her gaze traveled between the witcher and the princess the color of her eyes shifted from that of bright forest moss to something that looked more like a vibrant chartreuse poisonous plant that you warn children not to touch.
“You are his child of surprise, the second in your line of such a fate, and yet you,” she turned that piercing gaze on Geralt, “you do not believe in fate.”
“Great, you can see the obvious,” the witcher growled.
“What is it that you want to know, Geralt of Rivia, the great white wolf?”
“What lays ahead,” he had to grind the words between clenched teeth, already immensely regretting the decision to seek out this woman.
“Your fates are entwined, this you know, but what you don’t know is that the fate of the two of you is not only entwined with a third, quite strongly, but with that of every creature on the continent. Normally when I look through fate strings I see connection to a dozen at most, once I even saw a couple hundred or so, but with you I see every creature, every horse, elf, and man on the continent. It’s like looking at a complete tapestry instead of a corner of cloth. What’s more, your future is fractured, and along with it the future of everyone. The decisions you make in the coming months will impact more than just Cintra and Nilfgaard.”
“Perfect, this has been a waste of time, let’s-” Geralt was in the process of standing a very scared former princess up when he was interrupted.
“I remind you of her.” Gold eyes snapped to yellow-green.
“What?”
“Your mother, the woman who left you to become a witcher or die.” Before he really thought through his actions, the Witcher’s sword was at her throat.
“What do you know of it,” his voice was little more than a growl.
“I know your pain. The pain of being abandoned, left to die by the one who should have loved you most. I know that in your heart of hearts you want nothing more than closure on why she did what she did, how she brought herself to leave you there. And I know that like me you have searched and yet found nothing.” The tip of Geralt’s blade slowly lowered, the snarl on his lips was not as easily sheathed.
“What,” the witcher paused to consider his words. “...outcomes do you foresee in our futures?”
“Life or death. Either you will succeed, the white flame will be smothered and the continent remain as it is, or you will fail. The continent will fall into darkness under the white flame, Cirilla will be their turning point, and their slave, and you and the other will die.”
“The other?”
“Yennefer of Vengerberg, the one who held your heart.”
“Fuck.”