Witcher: Rukh and Steel

Six months had passed, and Novigrad remained the same. The city was as it always had been—a place where wealth and poverty coexisted, where faith and power dictated fate, and where survival depended on understanding the shifting tides of influence. The Eternal Fire continued to tighten its grip, the markets bustled with trade, and the streets remained busy with merchants, nobles, and common folk alike.

Yunan had established himself comfortably within the city. He was not a figure of mystery or intrigue but simply a wealthy collector of rare artifacts, books, and oddities. He had become friends with Vimme Vivaldi, the dwarven banker, and Hattori, the elven blacksmith, spending time discussing trade, craftsmanship, and history over drinks.

He also spent his nights with the Var Attre sisters, his neighbors, whose company had become a regular part of his life. It was not love, nor was it anything complicated. They enjoyed each other's presence, and it was simply another part of his routine in Novigrad.

Beyond the Free City, the war continued to shape the world. Temeria had fallen, absorbed by Nilfgaard, while Redania and the Empire remained locked in a stalemate. The Eternal Fire's influence grew, and with it, the witch hunts intensified. Mages, herbalists, and alchemists were hunted down and burned, forcing many into hiding or fleeing to safer lands.

Velen had become worse than before. No longer just a land ravaged by war, it had become a place where no law existed. Bandits and deserters roamed freely, monsters thrived, and those who remained did so out of desperation. The land was dying, and no one seemed willing or able to stop it.

In Skellige, the question of succession remained unresolved. The great clans—an Craite, Tuirseach, Drummond, and Dimun—fought as they always had, though now with the added weight of determining who would rule the isles. The situation became more complicated when a strange tower appeared near Kaer Trolde. It had not been built, nor discovered, but had simply manifested, its black stone marked with unknown runes.

The appearance of the tower had ignited a frenzy among the jarls, with King Bran himself declaring that whoever conquered it would be named ruler of Skellige. The druids whispered of omens, of something stirring beneath the waves, and while some dismissed it as superstition, others took it as a sign of greater things to come​.

Toussaint remained untouched by war, its lands as picturesque as ever. However, something had changed. A fortress had risen from the Grand Lake, an obsidian structure pulsing with magic far older than anything else in the duchy. It was the work of Yunan, a Dungeon placed within Toussaint as part of his ongoing experiments.

Duchess Anna Henrietta had not hesitated to act, summoning her court to address the matter. Eventually, she entered the Dungeon herself and completed the trials within. At the end, she emerged as the second person to claim a Metal Vessel, binding Cerberus, a powerful Djinn, to her will.

Rumors spread quickly. It was said that the skies over Toussaint no longer darkened unless she wished it, that the vineyards flourished even in unnatural seasons, and that her voice alone could shake the very earth. Some viewed this as a blessing, while others whispered of the dangers of such power​.

Meanwhile, Kaer Morhen had become active once more. A new generation of Witchers trained within its walls, young boys preparing to undergo the Trial of the Grasses. Vesemir, Eskel, and Lambert oversaw their training, while Geralt came and went, never staying for long. He was still searching for answers, though few knew what exactly he sought.

As time passed, those at Kaer Morhen wondered where Yunan had gone. He had been there once, yet now he had disappeared entirely. Though no one actively searched for him, his absence was noted.

At some point, a letter arrived for him. It was from Tennefer, with instructions to meet in White Orchard.

-Geralt-

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its warm glow casting flickering shadows across the stone walls of the inn. Geralt of Rivia sat on a rough-hewn wooden bench, his silver hair glinting in the firelight as he stared into the flames. His golden cat-like eyes, usually sharp and alert, were distant, lost in thought. He had just woken from a dream—a vivid, unsettling dream that clung to his mind like a stubborn fog, refusing to dissipate.

Vesemir, the oldest and wisest of the Witchers, approached quietly, his boots barely making a sound on the wooden floor. He placed a hand on Geralt's shoulder, his voice low and steady. "You alright?"

Geralt exhaled slowly, his broad shoulders rising and falling with the weight of the dream. "Had a nightmare," he admitted, his voice gravelly. "About Kaer Morhen. Ciri was there, and Yennefer too... but she was never at Kaer Morhen. It was Triss."

Vesemir chuckled softly, the sound warm and familiar. "Was she nagging you about something?"

Geralt smirked, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "True to life, indeed."

Vesemir sat down beside him, his weathered face illuminated by the firelight. "What happened in the dream?"

Geralt's expression grew somber. "We found Ciri. Then we trained. It felt... real. Like it used to be."

Vesemir nodded, his eyes distant as he reminisced. "Those were the days. Did it end well?"

Geralt's jaw tightened. "No. The Wild Hunt attacked."

Vesemir placed a reassuring hand on Geralt's shoulder. "It was just a dream."

Geralt nodded, though the unease lingered. "You're right. It's time to go. It's almost night, but the village in the letter... it got burned."

Vesemir took the letter from Geralt, his sharp eyes scanning the contents. He sniffed the parchment, his nose wrinkling slightly. "Let me see. It smells like lilac and gooseberries... Hmm, Willowbush near Vizima? What's this about a unicorn?"

Geralt snatched the letter back, his expression stern. "That's private."

Vesemir raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. The two Witchers mounted their horses, Roach and Vesemir's steed, and rode toward the nearest town. The road was quiet, the only sounds the rhythmic clopping of hooves and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.

As they approached a bend in the road, a panicked shout pierced the air. A merchant, his cart overturned and his goods scattered, cowered behind a tree. Above, a griffin circled menacingly, its massive wings casting a dark shadow over the road. The beast let out a piercing screech, its talons glinting in the fading sunlight.

Geralt dismounted, his silver sword already in hand. Vesemir followed suit, his movements calm and deliberate. The griffin dove, but Geralt was ready. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the beast's talons, and struck with precision, slicing through one of its wings. The griffin screeched in pain and retreated, disappearing into the forest.

The merchant, trembling and wide-eyed, stumbled forward. "Thank you! Thank you!"

Geralt sheathed his sword and approached the man. "You seek someone?" the merchant asked, his voice still shaking.

"Yes," Geralt replied. "A woman. Long black hair, medium height. Smells of lilac and gooseberries."

The merchant nodded eagerly. "There's an inn in White Orchard. Gets a few travelers. Try your luck there."

Geralt and Vesemir exchanged a glance before mounting their horses and continuing their journey.

The inn at White Orchard was bustling with activity. Patrons filled the room, their voices rising and falling like the tide. The air was thick with the smell of ale, roasted meat, and sweat. The innkeeper, a stout man with a nervous demeanor, was hanging a Nilfgaardian banner on the wall as Geralt and Vesemir entered. Some of the patrons glared at the newcomers, but the Witchers paid them no mind.

"Beg your pardon for those thugs," the innkeeper said, gesturing to the hostile patrons.

"We're used to it," Vesemir replied with a shrug.

"We're looking for a woman," Geralt said, cutting straight to the point. "Black hair, medium build, smells of lilac and gooseberries."

The innkeeper shook his head. "Haven't seen anyone like that."

Vesemir leaned in, his tone casual but probing. "But perchance, is there a bounty on the griffin?"

The innkeeper shrugged. "There's none. But you might ask the travelers resting here. Folks from all over—might be worthwhile."

"Thanks for the info," Geralt said, nodding as he and Vesemir found a table to sit down.

As they settled in, Vesemir began bandaging a wound on his arm. "Don't draw any attention," he said quietly. "You ask the travelers; I'll take care of this."

Geralt nodded and approached a man from Oxenfurt, who was more interested in discussing the war than providing useful information. Next, Geralt moved to a man sitting alone by the door.

"Looking for a woman?" Geralt asked as he sat down.

"Like everyone else," the man replied with a smirk.

"Not like everyone," Geralt countered. "She smells of lilac and gooseberries, dresses in black and white."

The man's smirk widened. "Let's have a drink."

As they drank, the man introduced himself. "The woman you wish to find... Yennefer of Vengerberg?"

Geralt's eyes narrowed. "I never mentioned a name."

"You described her perfectly," the man said. "And when I hear something, I never forget. Heard her from Master Dandelion's ballads. Who might you be?"

"A vagrant," the man replied. "Gaunter O'Dimm. Once a merchant of mirrors, hence the crowd dubbed me 'Master Mirror.'"

At that moment, a hooded figure from the corner joined them, removing his hood to reveal Yunan's familiar face. "It's been a while, Geralt," Yunan said jovially as he sat down. "Nice to meet you, Master Mirror."

Gaunter O'Dimm raised an eyebrow. "May I ask, is this about love?"

Yunan chuckled. "Is it, Geralt? I thought you already had Triss."

Geralt shot them both a glare. "None of your business."

"Of course," O'Dimm said with a sly smile.

"Now, tell me what you know," Geralt demanded.

O'Dimm leaned back in his chair. "A scout from the local garrison saw her. She rode in at the black of night and had an abrupt exchange with the commander."

"Thanks," Geralt said, his voice low and curt. Yunan glanced at O'Dimm, and the two exchanged a subtle nod, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Without another word, Geralt and Yunan made their way back to Vesemir, who was seated at the table, his sharp eyes scanning the room as he nursed a tankard of ale.

"Geralt, did you get any info?" Vesemir asked, his tone steady but curious. He then turned to Yunan, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And Yunan, it's been a while."

"I'm going to the local garrison," Geralt said abruptly, already turning toward the door. He left Yunan and Vesemir to their conversation, his mind focused on the task at hand.

Yunan slumped into a chair beside Vesemir, leaning back against the wall with a lazy sigh. "Been a while, Vesemir," he said, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"Where have you been? Last I heard, Geralt saw you at Loc Muinne," Vesemir remarked, his gaze narrowing slightly as he studied Yunan.

"Here and there," Yunan replied with a shrug, his tone nonchalant. "I've mainly been staying in Novigrad."

Vesemir raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of surprise and concern. "Novigrad? Why hide in such a dangerous place? The witch hunters are crawling all over that city."

Yunan smirked, his confidence unwavering. "Nah, I hid my house using enchantments. Even if they did find me, they couldn't capture or defeat me. So, how's Kaer Morhen?"

Vesemir sighed, leaning back in his chair. "It's fine. After you left, we've been focusing on training the new generation. Though we're still waiting for you to return so we can perform the trials."

Yunan chuckled, his eyes closing as he relaxed further into his seat. "I'll join Geralt and return with him to the keep. Say hello to Lambert, Leo, and Eskel for me," he said, his voice trailing off as he drifted into sleep.

A few hours later, Geralt returned to the inn. The common room was quieter now, the patrons either gone or passed out in their chairs. Vesemir was resting with his eyes closed, though Geralt knew better than to assume the old Witcher was truly asleep. Yunan, on the other hand, was sprawled in his chair, snoring softly. Geralt approached Vesemir, his boots barely making a sound on the wooden floor.

"The commander asked me to kill the griffin in exchange for the information," Geralt said, his voice tinged with irritation. "Turns out the soldiers tried to kill it themselves and only made things worse. Now the griffin's attacking everyone."

Vesemir opened his eyes, his expression one of weary resignation. "Always the same. Instead of hiring professionals, they bungle it and make things worse. Let's prepare the trap. There's a field not far from here—no one around to get hurt."

Geralt nodded, then turned to Yunan, who was still asleep. He nudged the mage with his boot. "Wake up. We're hunting a griffin, and you're coming with us to kill it."

Yunan groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Nah, I'll pass. You don't need me," he muttered, trying to curl back into his chair.

Geralt wasn't having it. He grabbed Yunan by the arm and hauled him to his feet. "You're coming," he said firmly, dragging the protesting mage out of the inn.

The field was quiet, the moon casting a pale glow over the tall grass. No one was around, just as Vesemir had said. The three of them worked quickly, setting up a wooden goat covered with buckthorn to attract the griffin. They took their positions in the bushes, waiting in silence.

It didn't take long for the griffin to appear. The beast swooped down from the sky, its massive wings stirring the air as it descended toward the decoy. Geralt moved first, rolling out of the bushes and drawing his silver sword. The griffin let out a piercing screech, its talons slashing through the air as it lunged at him.

Yunan, now fully awake, emerged from the bushes with a flick of his wrist, chains of magical energy snaking through the air to bind the griffin's wings. Vesemir stayed back, his crossbow at the ready, watching for an opening.

Geralt dodged another swipe of the griffin's talons, his movements precise and calculated. With a swift, powerful strike, he severed the beast's head from its body. The griffin let out one final, guttural cry before collapsing in a heap.

Yunan released the magical chains, letting them dissipate into the air. "Well, that was fun," he said dryly, brushing dirt off his robes.

Vesemir stepped forward, inspecting the griffin's carcass. "Good work. Let's get back to the inn."

Yunan and Vesemir made their way back, leaving Geralt to handle the griffin's remains. Geralt headed to the garrison to exchange the information, his mind already turning to the next steps of his search. The night was far from over, but for now, the griffin was dead, and the field was silent once more.

-Yunan-

Yunan and Vesemir sat in the inn, the low hum of conversation and the occasional clink of tankards filling the air as they waited for Geralt to return from the garrison. The fire in the hearth had died down to embers, casting a faint orange glow across the room. Yunan was slumped in his chair, his head tilted back as he dozed, while Vesemir kept a watchful eye on the door.

"Wake up, Yunan," Vesemir said, his voice low but firm. "I see Geralt outside."

Yunan groaned, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. "Can't a man get a moment's rest?" he muttered, though he followed Vesemir outside without further complaint.

As they stepped into the cool night air, they were met with an unexpected scene. A group of men, their faces twisted with anger, were harassing the innkeeper, their voices raised as they gestured aggressively at the Nilfgaardian banner hanging on the wall. The innkeeper, visibly shaken, was trying to reason with them, but it was clear the situation was escalating.

"Yunan," Vesemir said, his tone serious, "make those men sleep. Use your magic."

Yunan sighed, but he didn't argue. With a flick of his wrist and a muttered incantation, a wave of magical energy swept over the men. One by one, they slumped to the ground, their threats cut short as they fell into an unnatural slumber.

The innkeeper, wide-eyed and relieved, stammered his thanks. "I—I don't know what to say. Thank you!"

Vesemir nodded curtly. "Just get them out of the way."

As the innkeeper dragged the unconscious men to the side, Geralt appeared, his expression grim. "What happened?" he asked, glancing at the scene.

"Few men harassing the innkeeper. We solved it," Vesemir replied simply.

Geralt nodded, his mind already elsewhere. "Yennefer was heading to Vizima," he said, his voice tight with urgency.

"Let's go," Vesemir said, grabbing Yunan by the arm and dragging him toward the horses.

As they stepped outside, the sound of galloping horses echoed through the night. A woman clad in black and white dismounted gracefully, her piercing violet eyes locking onto Geralt. "You've not changed a bit," Yennefer said, her voice carrying a mix of amusement and exasperation.

"Yen? How?" Geralt asked, his tone a mixture of surprise and relief.

Yennefer smirked. "I received a report about a Witcher appearing in White Orchard. I knew it was you. I might have waited for you to find me, but as you know, patience is not my strong suit. I'd embrace you if you weren't covered in blood." Her gaze shifted to Yunan, who was leaning lazily against a post. "And who's your new companion?"

"Yennefer," Vesemir interjected, "this is Yunan. He's our resident mage at Kaer Morhen, though he tends to disappear from time to time."

"Nice to meet you too," Yunan said, raising a hand in a lazy wave.

Yennefer arched an eyebrow but didn't press further. "No time for pleasantries. We need to go to Vizima. Someone's waiting for you—the Emperor, Emhyr var Emreis, the White Flame dancing on the graves of his foes."

Geralt's expression darkened. "Last time we saw each other, he wanted to kill me."

"Now he wishes to give you an offer," Yennefer replied.

"The kind you can't refuse?" Vesemir asked, his tone dry.

"Yes," Yennefer said simply.

"Must be a damn good offer, then," Geralt muttered.

Yennefer turned back to her horse, her movements fluid and deliberate. Geralt hesitated for a moment before following, but not before Vesemir handed Yunan off to him. "I'm going the opposite direction," Vesemir said. "Besides, he didn't invite me."

Yunan, who had been dozing on his feet, groaned as Geralt shook him awake. "What now?" he mumbled.

"We're riding with the Nilfgaardians," Geralt said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Vesemir mounted his horse and gave them a nod. "Stay out of trouble," he said before riding off into the night, his figure quickly disappearing into the shadows.

Geralt and Yunan mounted their horses and joined the Nilfgaardian escort, the group setting off at a brisk pace toward Vizima. The road ahead was long, and the weight of the Emperor's offer hung heavily in the air. But for now, they rode in silence, the only sound the rhythmic pounding of hooves against the dirt road.