THREE WEEKS LATER -
The Witcher's training room smelled of dust, old parchment, and steel that had been sharpened too many times to count. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with bestiaries, monster sketches, field notes written in cramped, weather-worn handwriting.
Sebastian sat at a long wooden table, legs swinging slightly, hands folded, outwardly attentive, inwardly carefully restraining himself.
Vesemir paced before him with a thin wooden stick in hand, like a stern schoolmaster instead of a battle-scarred witcher.
"Alright," Vesemir said, tapping the table once. "Let's see what stuck in that head of yours. Tell me, boy. What's the difference between a ghoul and an alghoul?"
Sebastian blinked. 'Easy. Too easy.'
He hesitated on purpose, knitting his brows as if thinking hard.
"…The alghoul is… bigger?" he ventured.
Tap.
The wooden stick cracked lightly against the top of his head.
"Wrong," Vesemir snapped. "Again."
Sebastian rubbed his scalp, keeping his expression innocent. "Stronger?"
Tap.
"Wrong."
"Uh… greener?"
Tap.
Lambert's voice drifted in from the doorway. "If he says 'uglier' next, I'm walking out."
Sebastian coughed, trying not to smile.
Vesemir pinched the bridge of his nose. "An alghoul isn't just a 'bigger ghoul.' It develops bone spikes as it ages. Hard as iron. Break a sword if you're careless. It's smarter, more territorial, and far more dangerous. Treat it like a common ghoul, and it'll be the last mistake you make."
Sebastian nodded solemnly.
Inside, he groaned.
'I know. I know all of this. Spawn patterns, nesting habits, regional variants… even which ones prefer graveyards over battlefields.'
He rested his chin on his palm.
'I'm starting to regret making intentional mistakes. Vesemir takes this terrifyingly seriously. But how do I tell him I already know everything without sounding like some sort of abnormal being?'
Vesemir continued, relentless.
"Next. Lesser vampire versus higher vampire. Difference?"
Sebastian opened his mouth, then deliberately fumbled.
"Higher vampires… glitter?"
Tap.
Lambert snorted. "Glitter. Gods help us."
Eskel leaned against a shelf, amused. "Let him finish. Maybe he'll invent a whole new subspecies."
Vesemir exhaled sharply. "Sebastian."
"Yes, Uncle Vesemir?"
The old witcher narrowed his eyes. "This isn't a tavern guessing game."
Sebastian straightened. "Sorry."
Vesemir pointed the stick at a diagram on the table. "Lesser vampires, fleder, ekimmara, garkain. They are killable. dangerous, but they are still animals, while they are intelligent they are nothing like Higher vampires… who are something else entirely. Very Intelligent. Near-immortal. Don't lump them together. That mistake costs lives. Most Witchers never take contracts on them."
Sebastian nodded again, more sincerely this time.
"…Understood."
The door creaked open.
Bootsteps.
Geralt stepped inside, arms crossed over his chest, yellow eyes flicking from the books to the stick in Vesemir's hand, then to Sebastian.
"…Am I interrupting a beating or a lesson?" he asked dryly.
"Both," Lambert replied. "Educational abuse, it's actually entertaining."
Geralt looked at Sebastian. "You holding up?"
Sebastian smiled politely. "Trying my best."
Geralt raised a brow and turned to Vesemir. "Is he any good compared to us back then?"
Vesemir scoffed. "You lot had years to grow into your bones. Sebastian's barely begun, and he's already ahead of where you were at his age."
Eskel smirked. "He's better than Lambert that's for sure."
Lambert clicked his tongue. "Very funny."
Geralt glanced back at Sebastian, mildly impressed. "Careful, Vesemir. If you keep cracking him over the head with books and sticks, he'll start hating the pages more than the monsters."
Vesemir snorted. "Better he fears ignorance than ink."
Sebastian smiled faintly, lowering his gaze.
'If only you knew how much I already know…'
Geralt rested a hand on the back of a chair. "Keep at it, kid. Monsters are easier to deal with than teachers."
Sebastian looked up at him. "I'm starting to believe that."
Vesemir tapped the table once more. "Lesson's not over. Now, tell me again. Ghoul. Alghoul. Proper answer this time."
Sebastian inhaled, then answered, still holding back, still pretending to learn slower.
And Vesemir watched him with sharp, suspicious glare.
****
The hall of Kaer Morhen rarely felt warm, but the fire crackling in the hearth managed to soften the cold stone just enough to make the place feel like a home rather than a fortress built for ghosts now.
A rough wooden table stood at the center, scarred by decades of blades, tankards, and careless elbows. Bowls of stew steamed beside thick slices of bread. The smell was simple, hearty, a meal meant to fill bellies after bruising training sessions, mental and physical.
Sebastian sat among them, legs barely long enough to reach the floor comfortably. Still, he kept his posture straight, trying not to look like a child among wolves.
Geralt leaned back in his chair, arms folded loosely as he watched the boy over the rim of his mug.
"So," he said dryly, a faint smirk ghosting over his face, "Vesemir give you a hard time today as well?"
Sebastian hesitated, then nodded, rubbing the side of his head.
"Yes," he admitted. "My head still hurts. I think he struck me… more times than I can count. Over very small mistakes."
Lambert barked out a laugh, nearly spilling his drink.
"Small mistakes," he echoed. "That's generous. Vesemir used to smack us for breathing wrong."
Eskel chuckled, shaking his head. "Or for asking questions. Or for not asking questions. Hard to remember which earned more bruises."
Lambert grinned at Sebastian. "You're lucky, kid. At least you get hit with a stick. We got the flat of a blade sometimes."
Sebastian blinked. "That doesn't sound lucky."
"It builds character, look at me." Lambert replied lazily.
"Or resentment," Eskel added. "We hated training. Hated the books even more. Didn't see the point back then."
His gaze softened slightly as he looked at Sebastian.
"Truth is, though… nothing keeps a witcher alive like knowledge. Steel and Silver matters, yes. But knowing what you're facing.. how it hunts, how it bleeds, how it lies, that saves your life."
Geralt nodded faintly.
"And your sword," he added. "Never forget that. Monsters don't die from good intentions."
Sebastian smiled faintly at that, lowering his gaze to his bowl. "I'll remember."
Geralt watched him for a moment longer than necessary, then sighed quietly.
"It's still strange," he murmured. "Seeing a new face here. Been a long time since Kaer Morhen felt… alive."
He looked at Sebastian again.
"We'll prepare you well. It'll take years. Pain, sweat, bruises, probably worse. But we'll get you there."
Lambert smirked. "Assuming Vesemir doesn't scare him off first."
As if summoned by insult, Vesemir entered the hall, boots echoing softly against the stone. He took in the scene, the laughter, the warmth, the boy among them and allowed himself a small, tired smile.
"Scare him off?" he scoffed, taking a seat. "This one won't run."
He glanced at Sebastian, his expression stern but not unkind.
"The problem is only that he's still small. Too small. The world won't wait for him to grow."
He paused, voice quieter but heavier.
"But I have a feeling… he'll become one of the finest the School of the Wolf has ever produced."
The table went still for a heartbeat.
Geralt raised a brow. "That's high praise coming from you."
Lambert smirked sideways. "Careful, Vesemir. If you say it too loud, the kid might start believing it."
Sebastian felt his face warm and quickly looked back at his food.
"I'll just try not to embarrass you," he said softly.
Eskel smiled. "Don't worry. Embarrassing us is practically tradition, Gerlat done plenty of that already."
Geralt smiled and leaned back again, letting the firelight catch the pale lines of his face.
"Eat," he said more gently. "Tomorrow's another day of bruises, lectures for Seb, and Vesemir reminding us how disappointing we are."
Lambert raised his mug. "To being the disappointing wolves in the eyes of Vesemir."
They clinked their cups together in laughter.
Sebastian hesitated… then lifted his own bowl slightly, smiling.
/-\
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