The great doors of Kaer Morhen's keep groaned as they opened, iron hinges protesting against the cold. Snow spilled in with the wind, followed by a tall, broad-shouldered figure wrapped in a travel-worn cloak, steam rising from its nostrils.
White hair, tied back. Two swords over his back.
Geralt of Rivia stepped inside.
He shut the doors with a solid thud and shook the snow from his shoulders. "Still standing," he muttered. "That's new."
Lambert snorted from across the hall. "Careful. If you say things like that, the keep might hear you and collapse out of spite."
Eskel stepped forward, grinning. "You're late."
Geralt raised an eyebrow. "I rode through a blizzard and a pack of drowners that thought ice made them brave. You want me earlier, meet me halfway."
Lambert folded his arms. "We would, but you'd probably complain about the cold."
Geralt smirked. "Says the man who hates winter."
"I hate you," Lambert replied instantly.
Eskel laughed. "Good. That means everything's normal."
Then Lambert stepped forward.
He didn't smirk this time.
He extended his arm.
Geralt looked at it, then up at Lambert's face. The scarred witcher held his gaze.
"…Welcome home, Wolf," Lambert said with a smile.
Geralt clasped Lambert's forearm firmly, the grip solid.
"Good to be back," Geralt replied.
Eskel didn't bother waiting. He stepped in next, gripping Geralt's arm just as hard, pulling him a fraction closer before letting go. "Took you long enough. We were starting to think you'd finally found a warm bed and forgotten us."
Geralt huffed. "Tempting. But someone has to keep you company."
Eskel smiled, genuine this time. "Welcome home, brother."
Geralt nodded once, a quiet acknowledgment, then rolled his shoulders, gaze sweeping the hall, then settling on Vesemir. His expression softened immediately. "Vesemir."
The old witcher smiled. "Welcome home, Geralt."
Geralt stepped forward, clasping his forearm with a respect that needed no words. Then his eyes shifted.
Sebastian stood beside Vesemir, smaller than the others, firelight glinting in unmistakable golden slits.
Geralt froze.
His breath caught, just slightly. His hand drifted unconsciously toward one of his swords before stopping.
"…Vesemir," he said carefully, "is he.."
"Yes," Vesemir answered before the question was finished. "As you can clearly see, he's one of us."
Geralt's gaze sharpened, disbelief plain on his face. "That's not possible."
"But it is. He's alive," Vesemir replied calmly. "And mutated. Youngest witcher in history. I'll tell you the story later." He rested a hand on Sebastian's shoulder. "For now.. meet Sebastian."
Geralt crouched slightly, bringing himself closer to the boy's height. He studied him for a long moment, eyes flicking from posture to stance to those cat-like pupils that reflected the fire far too cleanly.
Then, slowly, he reached out and ruffled Sebastian's hair.
"Hey, little one," Geralt said, voice softer than any of the others had heard recently. "What kind of trouble did you get into that becoming a witcher was the solution?"
Sebastian smiled, unbothered. "Nice to meet you, Geralt. I've heard so much about you."
Geralt blinked.
Once.
Then he straightened and turned his head slowly toward Eskel. "How old is he again?"
Eskel grinned. "See? That was my reaction too."
Lambert scoffed. "Kid doesn't cry, doesn't complain, doesn't even sulk. Likes training." He shook his head. "Everything about him's wrong."
Sebastian tilted his head. "Is that bad?"
Lambert opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again. "...Not really, no."
Vesemir chuckled. "Come, Geralt. Sit. You look like the road hasn't been kind."
Geralt exhaled, finally relaxing. "That's one way to put it."
They moved toward the table, the fire crackling louder as if welcoming him back. Geralt pulled off his gloves, setting them down.
Vesemir poured him a drink. "Any stories from the path?"
Geralt accepted the mug, staring into it for a moment before sighing. "Plenty."
He took a long swallow, eyes lifting briefly to Sebastian still calm, still watching.
Geralt frowned faintly, thoughtful.
'This winter just got interesting.'
****
Sebastian's room was small, tucked deep within the keep. A narrow bed, a rough table, a single chair carved by hands long dead. The wind pressed softly against the shutters, carrying the distant howl of snow piling higher against the keep.
He stood in the center of the room barefoot, both hands wrapped around the grip of a wooden sword far too big for him. The blade's tip dipped slightly toward the floor. Sebastian exhaled slowly, adjusted his stance, and brought the sword up again.
"My swordsmanship is slowly improving," he murmured to himself, voice barely louder than the crackle of the fire down the hall. "With my… witcher brothers, it shouldn't be a problem to refine it. Not if I keep at it."
He practiced a short cut, careful and precise. Then another.
"I must get stronger," he said quietly. "Strong enough to survive this world."
The sword lowered.
A translucent presence unfolded before his eyes, silent, orderly, alien against the stone of Kaer Morhen.
[SYSTEM STATUS WINDOW]
Race: (Mutant)
Class: (Witcher, Monster Hunter)
Special Powers:
Flame Flame Fruit
???
???
Level: 1
Experience: 0 / 100
Sebastian stared, unblinking. Checking if it is still real, still there. He swallowed.
[STATS]
Strength (STR): 10
Physical power, striking force, ability to overpower enemies
Agility (AGI): 10
Speed, reflexes, balance, attack & evasion timing
Endurance (END): 10
Health, stamina pool, resistance to fatigue
Vitality (VIT): 10
Healing speed, poison resistance, mutation tolerance
Perception (PER): 10
Senses, awareness, reaction speed, monster tracking
Willpower (WIL): ??
Mental resistance, sign stability, magic
His brows knit slightly at the last line.
"What is that supposed to mean..." he muttered.
[COMBAT PROFICIENCIES]
Each proficiency levels independently.
Swordsmanship: Lv. 1
Archery: Lv. 1
Dual-Wielding: Lv. 1
Unarmed Combat: Lv. 1
Devil Fruit Mastery: Lv. 1
Witcher Signs: Locked.
[ADVANCED MAGIC]
Locked
Locked
Unlocks under certain conditions
[TRAITS & PASSIVES]
Witcher Physiology (Passive)
Monster Hunter Instinct (Passive)
Monster Knowledge: Unlimited
You possess knowledge of all manners of monsters and creatures of the Continent.
Master Alchemy
Knowledge of advanced alchemical formulae, witcher potions, decoctions and mutation compounds.
That last part made his fingers tighten around the wooden sword.
Knowledge and Master alchemy.
Things Vesemir, Eskel, Lambert, even Geralt had spent decades bleeding for.
Sebastian closed the window with a thought. The room returned to normal stone and shadow.
"I don't think I can share this yet," he whispered, more to himself than to the silence. "Not what I can do. Not what I know."
He glanced toward the door, half-expecting to hear boots, a cough, Lambert's sharp tongue, or Vesemir's steady footsteps. Nothing came.
"It'll take time," he continued quietly. "The fact that I'm well-spoken for my age is already enough to raise eyebrows. If they knew the rest…"
He trailed off.
His grip loosened. The wooden sword rested against the floor as he leaned it beside the table.
They were witchers. Suspicious by nature. Survivors of too many betrayals.
And yet… they had called him a little brother.
Sebastian sat on the edge of the bed, small legs dangling above the stone floor, golden eyes reflecting firelight that wasn't there.
"I'll learn their way first," he decided softly. "Their swords. Their rules. Their world."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"And when the time comes… I'll protect this place too."
/-\
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