Witcher: Rukh and Steel

The group—Geralt, Yennefer, Yunan, and the Nilfgaardian escort—rode swiftly toward Vizima, the rhythmic pounding of hooves against the dirt road filling the air. The forest around them was dense, the towering pines casting long shadows in the pale moonlight. The journey was tense, the weight of the Wild Hunt's pursuit still fresh in their minds. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the cold night breeze. Yunan, slumped lazily in his saddle with his hood pulled low over his face, broke the silence with a groan.

"Are we there yet?" he asked, his tone dripping with mock impatience. He stretched his arms above his head, his robes shifting loosely as he moved.

The Nilfgaardian commander, a stern man with a scar running down his cheek, rode a few paces ahead. He turned slightly in his saddle, his gloved hand tightening on the reins. "We're near," he replied, his voice clipped and weary.

At the front of the group, Geralt and Yennefer rode side by side. Geralt's white hair was tied back, his sharp eyes scanning the forest for any signs of danger. Yennefer sat tall in her saddle, her violet eyes gleaming with a mix of determination and weariness. Her hands rested lightly on the reins, but her fingers twitched occasionally as though they were prepared to cast a spell at any time. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders.

With a slight softening of his expression, Geralt looked at Yennefer. "You know," he said in a gravelly, low voice, "I had a dream about you recently."

With a playful smile, Yennefer's lips curled into a smirk. "It must have been filthy, knowing you," she said in a playful tone.

Geralt's normally stoic face briefly broke into a half-smile as his lips moved in amusement. He started to say, "Only at the beginning…," but stopped when he saw snowflakes starting to fall all around them. The air grew colder, and a sense of unease settled over the group. Geralt's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his silver sword, his fingers brushing against the worn leather grip.

A deafening roar echoed through the forest, and the Wild Hunt emerged from the shadows, their spectral forms closing in fast. The Nilfgaardians tensed, their hands gripping their weapons tightly. One of the soldiers, a young man with wide eyes, muttered a prayer under his breath.

"Oh no, you don't," Yunan muttered, his lazy demeanor replaced by sharp focus. He straightened in his saddle, his hood falling back to reveal his sharp features and piercing green eyes. With a wave of his hand, he conjured a massive wall of energy, blocking the road behind them. The Wild Hunt, however, shattered the barrier effortlessly, their relentless pursuit undeterred.

Yunan's eyes narrowed as he prepared another spell. The air around him crackled with energy, and the sound of chirping filled the air as birds made of light materialized, swirling around him. His fingers moved in intricate patterns, his lips murmuring incantations under his breath.

"What's that?" one of the Nilfgaardians asked, his voice tinged with awe as he stared at the glowing birds.

"That," Yennefer said, her tone a mix of shock and admiration, "is magic gathering around him."

"Ramz Al-Salos!" Yunan shouted, releasing the spell. Thunder rained down on the Wild Hunt, obliterating the front line of their forces. Yet, the rest continued their pursuit, undeterred.

The forest erupted into chaos as the Wild Hunt descended upon them. Spectral riders, their forms wreathed in icy mist, charged with unnatural speed, their glowing eyes burning with malevolent intent. The Nilfgaardians drew their swords, their faces pale but resolute. Geralt leapt from his saddle, his silver sword flashing in the moonlight as he met the first rider head-on. The clash of steel against spectral armor rang out, sparks flying as Geralt's blade met the otherworldly material.

Yennefer dismounted with a graceful leap, her hands already glowing with violet energy. She thrust her palms forward, and a wave of force sent two riders tumbling from their mounts. "Yunan!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the din. "We need to slow them down!"

Yunan, still on his horse, raised a hand lazily. "On it," he said, his tone almost bored. But his eyes burned with intensity as he began weaving another spell. The air around him shimmered, and the ground beneath the Wild Hunt's horses turned to quicksand, trapping several riders in place. "That should buy us some time," he muttered, though his expression was grim. "But they'll break free soon."

Geralt fought with the precision of a seasoned warrior, his movements fluid and deadly. He ducked under a sweeping strike from a spectral axe and countered with a slash that sent the rider's head tumbling to the ground. But the headless rider didn't fall; instead, it swung its weapon wildly, forcing Geralt to retreat. "They don't stay down!" he growled, his voice tight with frustration.

"They're not alive to begin with!" Yunan called back, his voice tinged with exasperation. He snapped his fingers, and a bolt of lightning struck the headless rider, reducing it to ash. "You're welcome!"

Yennefer, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of magic and motion. She conjured a barrier of fire, forcing the Wild Hunt to divert their path. But the spectral riders were relentless, their icy presence extinguishing the flames as they advanced. "We can't hold them off forever!" she shouted, her voice strained.

"Then we don't!" Geralt barked, cutting down another rider. "We make for the bridge! Yunan, can you cover us?"

Yunan smirked, though his face was pale from the strain of casting so many spells. "Can I cover you? Please. Just keep moving!" He raised both hands, and the air around him seemed to hum with power. "Ramz Al-Salos!" he shouted again, and this time, the sky itself seemed to split open. Bolts of lightning rained down, striking the Wild Hunt with unerring accuracy. The spectral riders howled in rage, their forms flickering as the magic tore through them.

The group surged forward, their horses galloping at breakneck speed. The bridge was in sight, but the Wild Hunt was closing in fast. Yennefer turned in her saddle, her hands glowing as she prepared one final spell. "Once we're across, I'll bring it down!" she called.

"Do it!" Geralt shouted, his voice barely audible over the thunder of hooves and the roar of the pursuing riders.

They crossed the bridge in a blur, and Yennefer wasted no time. She thrust her hands forward, and a surge of energy erupted from her fingertips. The bridge shuddered, then collapsed in a cascade of stone and wood, cutting off the Wild Hunt's path. The spectral riders halted on the other side, their glowing eyes burning with fury.

The Nilfgaardian captain turned to Yennefer and Yunan, his gratitude evident. He removed his helmet, revealing a weathered face with a thick mustache. "We thank you, sorceress and sorcerer," he said, bowing his head slightly.

Vizima loomed in the distance, its towering spires a welcome sight. The group pressed on, the Wild Hunt's threat temporarily thwarted. Geralt sheathed his sword, his breathing heavy but controlled. He glanced at Yennefer, who was brushing a strand of hair from her face, her expression a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.

Yunan, still on his horse, leaned back with a sigh. "Well, that was fun," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Remind me why I agreed to this again?"

Geralt shot him a look but didn't respond. Instead, he turned his gaze toward Vizima, his mind already racing ahead. The fight was over, but the war was far from won. And somewhere out there, Ciri was waiting.

Inside the grand palace of Vizima, Yunan found himself escorted to a lavish room alongside Geralt, where they were to prepare for their meeting with Emperor Emhyr var Emreis. The chamber was opulent, almost excessively so, with gilded mirrors reflecting the soft glow of candlelight and plush furnishings that seemed to swallow the room in luxury. A chamberlain, a thin man with a pinched face and a meticulously groomed mustache, attended to them with an air of disdain, as if their very presence offended him. A barber stood nearby, holding a razor and a towel, ready to make them presentable for the Emperor.

The chamberlain inspected Geralt first, his critical eye scanning the Witcher's rugged appearance. He lingered on the scars that marked Geralt's face and the dirt still clinging to his boots, his lips curling slightly in disapproval. "The gentleman's attire may suffice," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise. He then turned to Yunan, who was lounging on a nearby couch, his robes slightly disheveled and his posture the very picture of indifference. "And you, sir… your attire is… acceptable."

Yunan grinned lazily, stretching out on the couch like a cat basking in the sun. "I aim to please," he said, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. He had no intention of playing along with the chamberlain's pretentiousness, but he found it amusing to poke at the man's carefully maintained composure.

Geralt, fresh from a bath, stood as the barber approached. The chamberlain gestured to a chair. "The gentleman may be seated on the chair."

"Think Emhyr cares if I'm clean?" Geralt asked, his tone dry as he ran a hand through his damp hair.

The chamberlain's expression tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "The gentleman may only refer to His Imperial Majesty by his full title or not at all. Now, please shave the gentleman to half an inch."

"What's wrong with my beard? I thought it added character," Geralt protested, running a hand over the coarse stubble on his jaw.

"In Nilfgaard, we consider beards harsh on the eyes," the chamberlain replied primly, his nose wrinkling slightly.

Yunan couldn't resist chiming in. "Your beard's probably infested with lice," he said, earning a glare from Geralt. Yunan chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He loved riling Geralt up; it was one of the few pleasures he had in this stuffy, overly formal environment.

As the barber began shaving Geralt, a man entered the room. He was tall, with an air of authority that immediately set him apart from the other servants. His sharp eyes took in the scene, and he wasted no time in asserting his presence. "And prepare to answer some questions," he said, his voice commanding.

The chamberlain hesitated, his hands fluttering nervously. "General, I'm not sure if this is an appropriate time."

"There's no better time," the man replied with a smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Men answer truthfully when there's a blade near their throat." He turned to Geralt and Yunan. "I am Morvan Voorhis, commander of the Alba Division. Before you see the Emperor, there's some information I need to verify."

Yunan raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. This man was clearly no fool, and his directness was a refreshing change from the usual courtly nonsense. Morvan proceeded to list out details about both Geralt and Yunan. "Place of birth: unknown. Age: unknown."

Yunan couldn't resist interjecting. "I'm 1,000 if you add all my reincarnations," he said, his lips curling into a sly smile.

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to him. Morvan raised an eyebrow but simply noted it down, his expression unreadable. "Are you the collector of items from Novigrad?" he asked Yunan.

"If you mean do I buy all the items they auction and the properties of the mages, then yes, I do collect," Yunan replied lazily, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the armrest of the couch.

"Are you the one who made those structures appear over Skellige and Toussaint?" Morvan pressed, his pen poised over his notebook.

"You mean the dungeons? Well, I do summon them," Yunan said, his tone casual as if discussing the weather.

Morvan scribbled furiously in his notebook before turning his attention to Geralt, asking him a series of questions about his past and his connection to Ciri. Yunan, bored by the interrogation, let his mind wander. He leaned back on the couch, his eyes half-closed as he drifted into a light doze. The sound of Morvan's voice faded into the background, replaced by the soft hum of the palace around him.

Some time later, the chamberlain woke Yunan. "The gentlemen may arise and follow me," he said, his tone formal.

Yunan stretched lazily before standing, his robes billowing around him as he followed Geralt and the chamberlain into a grand hall. Emperor Emhyr var Emreis awaited them, flanked by advisors and guards. The chamberlain bowed deeply. "Your Imperial Majesty," he intoned.

Geralt stood still, his expression unreadable. "Your Majesty," he said, his voice steady.

Emhyr's piercing gaze swept over them. "All except the Witcher and the sorcerer, leave," he commanded.

As the room emptied, Yunan made his way to a nearby couch and sprawled across it, his demeanor as relaxed as ever. Emhyr's eyes narrowed as he approached. "So, you're the one who made all those towers appear," he said, his tone a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

"Yes," Yunan replied lazily, his fingers drumming on the armrest. "What, you want me to get you one?"

Emhyr's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "I want to know what lies inside them. My cousin, Anna Henrietta, is the only one to conquer a dungeon, but she seals her lips about it. I can't force her to speak—not with the power she now possesses."

Yunan shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling in a careless motion. "You could ask Geralt. He has one, you know," he said, pointing to the Witcher.

Emhyr's gaze shifted to Geralt, his wariness evident. "How?" he demanded, his voice sharp.

"Just reach the top," Geralt explained, his tone matter-of-fact. "Whoever does and gains the approval of the djinn earns its fealty."

Emhyr absorbed this information, his expression thoughtful. "That's good to know. Now, to the matter at hand. I summoned you here to search for my daughter, Cirilla. She's returned, and she's in danger. The Wild Hunt pursues her. You will bring her to me."

Geralt frowned, his brow furrowing. "Are you sure Ciri's here? Could it just be a rumor?"

"Oh, she's here alright," Yunan interrupted, drawing the attention of both men. He sat up slightly, his green eyes glinting with amusement.

"Where is she?" Emhyr and Geralt demanded in unison, their voices sharp.

Yunan smirked, his lips curling into a sly grin. "Where's the fun in that?"

Emhyr's voice turned icy, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Tell me now, sorcerer, or it will be your reckoning."

Geralt stepped closer, his tone equally serious. "Where is she, Yunan?"

Yunan sighed, relenting. "Felt the magical disturbance that she causes when she uses the elderblood. She's in this world alright, and using it a lot to teleport too," he said lazily, as he stretched out on the couch.

"Now I can be more assured that she's here. I want you to find my daughter and bring her here," Emhyr said in a demanding tone, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Why would I agree to that?" Geralt asked, his voice firm.

"I don't have the patience or time for that. Yennefer will convince you," Emhyr replied, his tone blank.

"I'll find her, but I will not do this for you. I'll do it for her," Geralt said, his voice resolute.

"You may find Yennefer for the information given by the spies," Emhyr said, as he called the chamberlain.

Geralt walked to the couch and woke Yunan. Together, they followed the chamberlain to Yennefer's room.

Geralt

As I stepped into the room, the scent of old parchment and incense hit me immediately. The space was cluttered with books—towering stacks on the floor, shelves crammed to bursting, and even a few open volumes scattered across a large oak table. In the corner, a megascope hummed faintly, its crystalline surface catching the dim light. Yennefer stood near the window, her arms crossed and her violet eyes sharp as they locked onto mine. She gestured for me to come closer, her movements precise and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey.

I approached, my boots barely making a sound on the polished wooden floor. Behind me, Yunan flopped onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, his robes billowing around him like a dark cloud. He sprawled out lazily, as if he owned the place, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Typical Yunan.

"Now you understand why I'm in the Emperor's court," Yennefer said, her voice cool and measured. She tilted her head slightly, her raven-black hair cascading over one shoulder. Even in the midst of chaos, she carried herself with an air of regal authority.

"Yunan confirmed that Ciri is really back in this world," I said, my tone serious. The words felt heavy as I spoke them, a mix of relief and dread settling in my chest. Ciri was alive, but the Wild Hunt was closing in. I couldn't afford to let my guard down.

Yennefer's gaze flicked to Yunan, who was now lounging on the bed like a cat in the sun. "He's the mage who calls himself a Magi, isn't he?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. "The one who appeared near Kaer Morhen. Triss mentioned him—and his laziness. I knew he was powerful, but not that powerful."

I nodded, glancing at Yunan. He was already dozing off, his head lolling to the side. "Yeah," I said, turning back to Yennefer. "He helped us a lot—rebuilding Kaer Morhen, making the Salamandra get a fake Witcher formula. He's also the one who summons the dungeons." I drew my sword, showing her the crest embedded on the blade. It shimmered faintly, a reminder of the power I'd gained from one of those mysterious towers.

Yennefer's eyes lit up with interest as she stepped closer, her fingers brushing against the spine of a nearby book. "Ah, the dungeons," she said, her voice low and thoughtful. "The towers where you get the powers of a djinn. Triss also mentioned that they contain treasures and artifacts. Fascinating."

"There are tons of those in Kaer Morhen," I replied, sheathing my sword. "You can get some if you want."

She smirked, a flicker of amusement crossing her face. "No takebacks," she said, her tone playful but firm. Then her expression shifted, her violet eyes locking with mine. "Back on topic—the spies have discovered two promising leads: Novigrad and Velen. You go there and meet the spy Hendrik in Velen. I will go to Skellige; there was a magical explosion that occurred there."

I frowned, crossing my arms over my chest. "A magical explosion? Any idea what caused it?"

Yennefer shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Not yet. But it's worth investigating. If Ciri's using her powers, it could be a sign she's been there—or that someone's tracking her."

I nodded, my mind racing. Velen was a swampy, miserable place, but if it meant getting closer to finding Ciri, I'd go. "Alright," I said. "I'll head to Velen. But if you find anything in Skellige, send word."

Yennefer's gaze softened slightly, and for a moment, the weight of everything we'd been through seemed to hang in the air between us. "Be careful, Geralt," she said, her voice quieter now. "The Wild Hunt isn't the only danger out there."

"I know," I replied, my voice steady. "You too."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Yunan stir. He sat up, stretching lazily before sliding off the bed. "Well, this has been delightful," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But if you two are done with your heartfelt reunion, I'm going to find something to eat. Or maybe take a nap. Decisions, decisions."

I shot him a glare, but he just grinned and sauntered out of the room, his robes trailing behind him. Yennefer watched him go, a faint smile playing on her lips. "He's… something," she said, shaking her head.

"That's one way to put it," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "But he's useful. And right now, we need all the help we can get."

Yennefer nodded, her expression turning serious again. "Go to Velen, Geralt. Find Hendrik. And bring Ciri home."

I met her gaze, the weight of her words settling over me like a mantle. "I will," I said, my voice firm. "No matter what it takes."

As I turned to leave, I couldn't shake the feeling that the road ahead would be long and treacherous. But Ciri was out there, and I wouldn't stop until I found her. No matter the cost.

Yunan

As Yunan left the room, he let Geralt and Yennefer continue their planning for the search for Ciri. The heavy oak door clicked shut behind him, muffling the sound of their voices. He paused in the dimly lit hallway, his sharp green eyes scanning the ornate tapestries and gilded sconces that lined the walls. The air smelled faintly of beeswax and incense, a testament to the Emperor's opulent tastes.

"We'll probably leave in a while for Velen and meet up with the spy," Yunan thought to himself, his mind already racing ahead. He leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed and his robes pooling around him like a shadow. "According to the game, we either meet up with Kiera Metz or go to Crow's Perch to meet the Baron. Hmm. Meeting Kiera first might be the smarter move—invite her to Kaer Morhen, stop her from getting impaled in Novigrad. That'd save us a lot of trouble later. Then, we'll go to Crow's Perch, deal with the Baron, and get the information from him. Though, honestly, that part sounds tedious. I'll just let Geralt handle the heavy lifting. He's good at that sort of thing—interrogating, tracking, all that brooding hero nonsense. After that, we'll head straight to Novigrad and meet Triss. Easy enough."

He smirked to himself, his lips curling into a lazy grin. "Well, as easy as anything can be when you're dealing with Witchers, sorceresses, and interdimensional huntsmen. Still, it's better than sitting around this stuffy palace, listening to Emhyr drone on about his 'imperial majesty.'"

As he wandered aimlessly through the palace corridors, his thoughts drifted. The weight of the upcoming journey pressed lightly on his mind, but he brushed it off with his usual nonchalance. "Ciri's back in this world, and the Wild Hunt's on her tail. Not exactly a relaxing vacation. But then again, when has anything in this world been simple? At least Geralt's here to handle the messy parts. I'll just… supervise. From a safe distance. Preferably with a drink in hand."

He stopped suddenly, realizing he had fully circled the court and was now standing in the center of the courtyard. A large, ancient oak tree loomed before him, its gnarled branches twisting toward the sky. The faint sound of birds chirping filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension inside the palace. Yunan tilted his head back, letting the sunlight filter through the leaves and warm his face. For a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy the quiet.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of boots on stone. He turned to see Geralt exiting the room, his white hair tied back and his expression as unreadable as ever. The Witcher was retrieving his weapons and armor from the chamberlain, who looked distinctly uncomfortable holding Geralt's bloodstained gear. Yunan couldn't help but chuckle at the sight.

Geralt noticed him and gave a curt nod, signaling for Yunan to approach. Yunan pushed off the wall and sauntered over, his hands tucked into the wide sleeves of his robes. "So, where to now?" he asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

"Velen," Geralt replied, his voice steady and low. "We need to meet up with a spy named Hendrik. We'll ask about him at the Crossroads Inn."

Yunan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. "Velen, huh? Swamps, drowners, and despair. Sounds delightful. Lead the way, oh fearless leader."

Geralt shot him a look but didn't respond. Instead, he slung his silver sword over his shoulder and adjusted the straps on his armor. Yunan watched him for a moment, noting the way Geralt's movements were precise and deliberate, every action calculated. "Always so serious," Yunan thought. "You'd think he'd crack a smile once in a while. Then again, when you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders, I suppose there's not much to smile about."

As they headed to the stables, Yunan couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. The hunt for Ciri was on, and while he wasn't one to dive headfirst into danger, he was ready to play his part—even if it meant letting Geralt do most of the work. "After all," he mused, "someone has to keep an eye on the big picture. And if that means lounging around while Geralt does all the heavy lifting, well, who am I to argue?"

The stables were a short walk from the courtyard, and the smell of hay and horses grew stronger as they approached. Yunan wrinkled his nose slightly but followed Geralt inside. Roach, Geralt's trusty mare, greeted them with a soft whinny, her dark eyes bright and alert. Yunan's borrowed Nilfgaardian steed, a sleek black stallion, stood nearby, looking decidedly less enthusiastic.

"You know," Yunan said as he mounted his horse, his voice carrying a playful lilt, "I could've just teleported us to Velen. Saved us the trouble of riding through bandit-infested woods and swampy hellholes. But no, here we are, about to embark on a scenic tour of mud, misery, and monsters."

Geralt swung himself onto Roach's back with practiced ease, his movements fluid and precise. He adjusted the reins, his amber eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced at Yunan. "Portaling's risky," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Too much noise. Too much attention. And I hate portaling. Makes my stomach turn."

Yunan raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a sly grin. "Ah, the great Geralt of Rivia, slayer of monsters and defeater of destiny, brought low by a little magical travel. Who would've thought?"

Geralt shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. "It's not just the nausea," he said, his tone firm. "Portals leave traces. The Wild Hunt's already on our trail. Last thing we need is to give them a glowing signpost to follow."

Yunan shrugged, his robes shifting as he settled into the saddle. He leaned back lazily, one hand resting on the pommel while the other idly twirled a strand of his dark hair. "Quiet's overrated. But fine, have it your way. Just don't blame me when we're knee-deep in mud and drowners. Or worse, when we run into one of those swamp hags. Nasty creatures, those. All warts and bad attitudes."

Geralt's lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through his usual stoic expression. "I've dealt with worse."

"Oh, I'm sure you have," Yunan replied, his tone dripping with mock admiration. "The legendary White Wolf, bravely facing down horrors untold. Meanwhile, I'll be in the back, providing moral support. And maybe a few well-timed spells. If I feel like it."

Geralt shook his head but didn't respond. Instead, he nudged Roach forward, the mare's hooves clattering against the cobblestones as they rode out of the palace gates. Yunan followed, his borrowed Nilfgaardian stallion trotting obediently behind. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the road. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth.

As they left the city behind, Yunan couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement. The journey ahead would be long and dangerous, but it was a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere of the Emperor's court. He glanced at Geralt, who rode ahead with his usual quiet intensity, his silver sword gleaming faintly in the sunlight.

"Let's see what trouble we can stir up," Yunan thought, a sly grin spreading across his face. His green eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned forward in the saddle, his robes billowing slightly in the breeze. "After all, where's the fun in playing it safe? Geralt can handle the monsters and the mud. I'll handle the entertainment."

The road stretched out before them, winding through dense forests and rolling hills. The occasional crow cawed in the distance, its call echoing eerily through the trees. Yunan hummed a tuneless melody under his breath, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the reins. Geralt, ever vigilant, scanned the horizon for signs of danger, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.

For a while, they rode in silence, the only sounds the rhythmic pounding of hooves and the rustle of leaves in the wind. Yunan's mind wandered, his thoughts drifting to the task ahead. "Ciri's out there somewhere," he mused. "And the Wild Hunt's closing in. Not exactly a relaxing stroll through the countryside. But then again, when has anything in this world been simple? At least Geralt's here to handle the messy parts. I'll just… supervise. From a safe distance. Preferably with a drink in hand."

He glanced at Geralt again, noting the tension in the Witcher's shoulders. "Always so serious," Yunan thought. "You'd think he'd crack a smile once in a while. Then again, when you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders, I suppose there's not much to smile about."

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Yunan couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. The journey to Velen was just beginning, and while the road ahead was fraught with danger, it was also filled with possibility. "Let's see where this path takes us," he thought, his grin widening. "After all, the best stories always start with a little chaos."