Just outside Rivendell, two figures sat side by side in silence against the rising sun. One was a slender, nimble woman, and the other was a burly yet agile-looking man. A single sword hung on the woman's back, while two swords rested on the man's. After Igris and the rangers took their leave, Ciri continued to hold Vesemir in a tight embrace for a while longer. The old wolf patiently waited for the girl to calm down. As time passed, Ciri composed herself and began to recount everything she had experienced since his death, one by one. Vesemir simply listened to her in silence. Now, after a brief quiet settled between them, Vesemir let out a soft chuckle and spoke.
"So, after everything that happened, Geralt actually settled down in a house with Yennefer, is that it?"
Ciri smiled serenely and nodded.
"Yes."
Vesemir let out a deep sigh at the news.
"I have lived for over three hundred years, but I don't think I've ever seen a romance quite as bizarre as theirs... I suppose..."
Gathering his thoughts, he then turned his curious gaze toward Ciri.
"And what exactly are you doing here, young lady?"
Ciri paused for a moment to gather her thoughts, then cleared her throat and spoke calmly.
"I'm here because of Zoltan... An invitation arrived for him and an old friend of his. At first, he wasn't going to accept it, but when his friend wanted to come, he didn't want to leave him alone."
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she continued.
"Actually, he knows you. He forged one of your swords. His name is Kargan Colwen."
Vesemir was pleasantly surprised by this revelation.
"Well, well. No wonder Zoltan's axe techniques looked familiar. So he knows that old goat."
Ciri nodded in agreement and began to explain in full detail how she had tracked Zoltan all the way here. Vesemir listened to her in silence once more, offering occasional nods of understanding.
"Clever."
As Ciri felt a flicker of pride at the compliment, Vesemir pressed on.
"And how did Yennefer and Geralt ever agree to this?"
Recalling those days, Ciri answered calmly.
"Geralt gave me his full support... Yennefer was fiercely against it, but Geralt managed to convince her."
Vesemir smirked, easily imagining the argument between his two old friends.
"So the Wolf thinks you've grown up and are ready for the outside world."
Ciri gave a gentle nod and went on.
"He tells me that I'm mature enough to make my own decisions, and that I need to embark on my own adventure and find my destiny."
After listening to her carefully, Vesemir thought to himself.
'Our little one has grown into a mature woman... if only she could let go of that temper and arrogance, she'd be an even better swordswoman.'
He then calmly asked his former student.
"Are you at all regretful about choosing to become a Witcher? You could have been an Empress, after all. A vast empire would have been at your fingertips."
Ciri rolled her eyes at the thought and spoke with her usual sarcasm.
"Oh, sure~ Absurd protocols, etiquette, boundaries, a life constantly on edge against assassinations, an empire full of citizens I'd have to look after, endless problems, nobles, and so on. I'll pass. I haven't even liked the title of princess since I was a child. People see being a king or queen as a blessing, Uncle Vesemir, but you know as well as I do that to me, it's nothing more than shackles restricting my freedom."
Vesemir shook his head helplessly and grinned.
"Yes, you and your love for freedom. A love so intense it's even enough to let you pierce right through my discipline and training."
Ciri flinched and looked at him. Then, with a faint blush on her cheeks, she toyed with her hair in embarrassment and mumbled.
"I never skipped the physical training..."
Vesemir raised a single brow in question and countered.
"But you bolted at the first opportunity during theory lessons."
Though Ciri tried not to back down, her voice betrayed her embarrassment as she replied.
"But they were so boring... even you would fall asleep while teaching them."
This time, it was Vesemir's turn to get caught. After a brief startle, he maintained his composure and spoke in a highly detached and serious tone.
"I was never sleeping. I merely closed my eyes to rest them."
Ciri flashed a mocking smirk, a look of profound skepticism washing over her face.
"While snoring loud enough to rattle the entire room?"
Vesemir felt cornered for a moment, but he quickly conjured up an excuse.
"That was a ruse to see if you were taking the lesson seriously, and you fled every single time."
Ciri raised an eyebrow and shot him an incredulous look. She didn't believe Vesemir in the slightest; after all, she always made absolutely sure the old wolf was truly asleep before sneaking out of her lessons. Catching Ciri's knowing look, Vesemir gave a soft clear of his throat and, rather than dragging the subject out, returned to his former seriousness.
"Now, what happened to your eyes? Why are they red instead of green?"
Ciri sighed, looking a little helpless for a moment. She recounted to her mentor, in full detail, the entire process and all the reasons that led to her current state. She then added some of the new abilities she had acquired. As Vesemir carefully processed what he heard, his expression darkened significantly, and he asked in a scolding tone.
"Why would you consume a liquid you know nothing about? And a potion handed to you by that clown, no less!"
Ciri looked dubiously at her mentor's reaction and asked.
"Have you met that man called Mephisto?"
The dark expression on Vesemir's face deepened at the mere mention of the name.
"Yes... he was a bizarre, maniacal man."
After nodding to confirm the man's strangeness, Ciri moved on to what she was truly curious about.
"So... did you drink the potion too, like me or Zoltan?"
Vesemir heaved a deep sigh, accepted the situation, and nodded.
"I couldn't have reached you otherwise... but I didn't go through the same process you did."
Ciri looked at him unhappily, as if she had suffered an injustice.
"And yet you're scolding me!"
Vesemir stated the truth with a calm voice.
"Your situation and mine are different. You didn't have to drink it, but I couldn't have come here to be by your side without drinking it."
Unable to find an argument against this valid point, Ciri sank into silence. After this brief quiet, Vesemir straightened up and spoke with firm resolve.
"Anyway, now that I am here and you are officially a Witcher, you are going to listen to me. We don't fully know what is going on in this world. Alongside a multitude of strange creatures, there are also entities they call dark lords, which is why I don't want you acting on your own whims."
Under normal circumstances, Ciri would have instantly rejected this authority. However, Vesemir had just stated that he formally acknowledged her as a Witcher. Standing before her right now wasn't her affectionate uncle; it was the Grandmaster of Kaer Morhen, the School of the Wolf, and the leader of the Witchers. Ciri gave a slow nod and replied solemnly.
"I understand."
Satisfied with her compliance, Vesemir nodded and steered the conversation to a more pressing matter.
"So, what kind of man is our employer?"
Ciri narrowed her eyes for a moment, picturing Igris in her mind. Recalling the countless scars she had seen across the man's body, she spoke honestly.
"To be frank, I'm not sure. I only know as much as I was told. I arrived just yesterday myself, so I haven't really had the chance to see him in action. As for my first impression... he is respectful, strange, and reckless, but he seems loyal and honest."
Vesemir nodded thoughtfully in agreement with this assessment. The fact that Igris had given them personal space during their initial reunion, stepping away without interfering in their affairs, had already earned Vesemir's considerable appreciation. After contemplating in his seat for a moment, he slowly stood up. With a deep breath, he stretched out, happily flexing the muscles of his body, and spoke with an air of sheer satisfaction.
"Ah! Now that's what I'm talking about! No aching bones, no throbbing joints! There's nothing quite like a healthy, young body!"
As Vesemir stretched his rejuvenated legs with immense delight, Ciri giggled softly at the sight and teased him with her usual mischievous flair.
"Uncle Vesemir, why didn't you ever tell me you were handsome enough to rival Geralt in your youth? Now I understand why Geralt had that unhappy, nostalgic look whenever he glanced at you. He was resentful that you had grown into an old, pot-bellied grandpa."
Startled and bewildered by what he heard, Vesemir quickly recovered and launched into a confident defense.
"I never grew a pot belly! It was just the heavy armor that made me look fat."
Smiling, Ciri rolled her eyes and slowly got to her feet.
"Sure, sure~"
She brushed the dirt and dust from her clothes with her hands, then stretched. Casting a mocking smirk at Vesemir, she asked curiously.
"So, how many women's hearts did you break with looks like that, Master Vesemir~?"
Faced with this insolent question, Vesemir put on a stern expression, lunged forward suddenly, and pinched Ciri's nose, pulling it lightly. Caught completely off guard, Ciri let out a pained groan.
"Ow, ow, ow! What are you doing?!"
Feigning anger in his eyes, Vesemir warned the girl.
"Focus on your job and stop sticking your nose into other people's pasts!"
He then loosened his grip and let her go. While Ciri rubbed her slightly reddened nose, Vesemir mumbled to himself and began striding toward his horse. Seeing her mentor act this way, Ciri happily jogged after him and spoke with excitement.
"Hey! What kind of face do you think Geralt would make if he saw you like this?"
Swinging agilely into his horse's saddle, Vesemir grinned in amusement at the thought.
"We would probably be treated to the Wolf's rarely seen expression of sheer bewilderment."
Ciri smiled at the image coming to life in her mind.
"Now that would be a sight worth seeing."
Following that, she too moved to mount her own horse. Agreeing with the girl, Vesemir kept smiling.
"Absolutely."
Setting the lighthearted moment aside, he grew serious once more and added.
"All right, lead the way, Ciri."
Ciri nodded in affirmation, pulled on her horse's reins, and set off. Vesemir urged his horse forward, falling in line right beside her. As the two rode side by side along the forest path, Vesemir posed a question that had been nagging at him.
"So, what else do you know about Igris?"
Ciri remained silent on her horse for a moment, gathering the information in her mind.
"There are some things I heard from the dwarves in his party, as well as things I've seen myself. Igris isn't a normal human, he's a half-breed, but it doesn't seem to bother him much. He can talk to animals... A dwarf named Bofur told me that Igris's arm could transform; it turned into a clawed monster's hand covered in black scales."
As she rode on, Ciri turned her head in curiosity and looked at her mentor.
"Have you ever encountered a monster or a race that fits such a description?"
Met with this expectation, Vesemir gave Ciri a deadpan look and asked dryly.
"What am I, a clairvoyant? Do you expect me to run an analysis off a rough sketch provided through third-hand information?"
Ciri shrugged indifferently and replied.
"Why not? Witchers work with far worse information."
Already feeling a mild headache coming on, Vesemir rubbed his temples with his fingers.
"Even then, we gather details like sounds, smells, and the sensations experienced. You're just telling me a man's arm turned into a black-scaled monster's arm."
Unwilling to press the issue further, Ciri cut it short.
"Anyway, he also has a certain level of fame. The locals know him as the Black Knight, though Igris doesn't classify himself as a knight. He uses a sword, a shield, and heavy armor. Like I said, even though I haven't seen him in the thick of battle, I accompanied him on an ambush yesterday; he's someone who understands tactics and strategy."
After listening to this strategic information, Vesemir nodded.
"Understood. I will make my judgment once I meet him."
Knowing his methods, Ciri remained silent for a moment, yet she couldn't help but ask the question lingering in her mind.
"So... what did the ones who sent you here offer you?"
Vesemir swallowed hard at the question. After staying quiet for a while, he let out a heavy sigh and spoke.
"Geralt, Lambert, and Eskel are coming..."
A massive smile spread across Ciri's face upon hearing those names. She already knew through Zoltan that Yennefer and Geralt were coming, but the inclusion of Lambert and Eskel was a wonderful surprise for her. Vesemir continued speaking, though this time a heavy sense of regret and melancholy could be felt in his voice.
"Coen and Leo, too..."
Deep down, Ciri had been anticipating those two names. She was incredibly happy, particularly at the prospect of seeing Coen again and proving to him just how much her skills had grown. However, the wound those deaths had left on Vesemir's soul was entirely different. As the old Witcher continued down the path with sorrowful eyes, he spoke in a melancholic tone.
"Furthermore, all the young children who perished in the siege of Kaer Morhen, along with the alchemists who died with them, are coming..."
Ciri was dumbfounded by this final piece of information. Where she had only expected a handful of master Witchers, she was now learning that a much larger group would be returning. She knew some of the tales regarding the siege of Kaer Morhen, and she was well aware of the scar that tragedy had carved into Vesemir's heart. Thus, unable to find the words, she lapsed into silence. Vesemir understood her speechlessness and sighed; to be completely honest, this entire situation was a miracle that was hard even for him to digest. Following a few minutes of silence filled only by the clip-clop of hooves, Ciri gently changed the subject.
"What about the master of Kaer Morhen before you?"
Fixing his gaze on the horizon, Vesemir stayed silent for a moment before speaking slowly.
"No... he and the Witchers from my era will not be coming... According to what the clown said, bringing them into this new era of Witchers would cause nothing but trouble. He also mumbled something about having a certain summoning quota, but he was spouting so much nonsense I couldn't make heads or tails of it... My life has just gotten a lot weirder..."
Piqued by this answer, Ciri continued her inquiry.
"And what about this new racial Witcher issue?"
Vesemir rode on in silence for a while, at a loss for how to explain the matter. Finally, with a bizarre expression that was hard to describe, he replied.
"Time will tell..."
Unwilling to press the issue against such an evasive answer, Ciri fell silent and kept riding. While this duo rode on in peace, a few kilometers away, a completely different conversation was taking place in the kitchens of Rivendell. Igris was busy tending to the cooking ingredients on the counter while simultaneously dealing with the miserable-looking Grey Wizard who stood right in front of him, practically interrogating him. After staring at Gandalf's scowling, stubborn face for a while, Igris let out a deep sigh and spoke as if yielding.
"Alright~ ask me whatever it is you want."
Snatching the opportunity, Gandalf spoke clearly, without beating around the bush.
"What is the limit of your ability?"
As his hands kneaded the dough, Igris shrugged indifferently.
"I don't know. To be honest, I have no idea how many people I can summon or what will come out. It could be a rabbit, or it could be a dragon."
Feeling his patience reaching its limits, Gandalf rubbed his brow and reiterated his question.
"And how many have you summoned so far?"
Kneading the dough in front of him with practiced skill, Igris answered without even looking back.
"I've summoned around a thousand people."
Faced with this nonchalant attitude, Gandalf narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"Then where are they? Where are the rest of your troops?"
Dropping the dough, Igris rolled his eyes in exasperation and turned to the wizard.
"Inside my mouth! What is this, an interrogation?!"
Gandalf glared harshly at the flippant outburst and replied.
"Igris. You said you would be honest."
The accused Igris glared right back at the man in the exact same manner and protested in a reproachful voice.
"Even though I said I'd be honest, you're asking questions like you're interrogating an enemy! What is with all this distrust?!"
Refusing to back down, Gandalf asked in an utterly freezing tone.
"The reason I cannot trust you is because you are hiding this information from me."
Igris leaned against the counter and stared blankly into the wizard's face.
"And you never even asked! Am I the one at fault here now? What does that make you, then? You don't go around telling anyone that you're a Maia, but do you see me throwing a fit over it? Pah! So much for your role as the kindly old grandpa."
This unexpected outburst caught Gandalf off guard for a moment. Narrowing his eyes even further, he stared at the man before him.
"How do you know that?"
Giving a slight shrug, Igris wore an awkward expression, clearly trying to brush the topic aside.
"Well, that part is a little complicated. I don't know what to say. How about I tell you Tom Bombadil told me, or maybe it's because of my ability?"
Unwilling to accept this dismissive answer, Gandalf maintained his piercing glare.
"Igris, answer me! How could you possibly know something that so few have known throughout the entire history of Middle-earth?!"
Realizing just how exhausting it would be to try and explain the situation, Igris felt a headache coming on and decided to nip the issue in the bud.
"Forget it. I just know it somehow. It's tied to my ability, but I don't want to cause any confusion by explaining it to you. To be brutally honest, I'm just too lazy to explain. Focus on the main issue."
Struggling to stop himself from slamming his staff onto the ground, Gandalf asked in a threatening whisper.
"And if I don't?"
Faced with this persistence, Igris adopted a thoroughly miserable expression. Abandoning the dough completely, he wiped his hands on his flour-dusted apron, looked Gandalf straight in the eyes, and delivered his blackmail.
"Fine, alright. Then you are going to tell me, in excruciating detail, about the other Maiar, the structure and destiny of Middle-earth, Sauron's corruption and his previous form, the dark entities, Ungoliant, Melkor, Valinor, and the sacred trees. Promise me that, and I'll give you the information."
Hearing these colossal, ancient secrets rattled off one after another, Gandalf jolted in his place, feeling as though boiling water had been poured over his head.
'How does he know of these things? No... if I promise to explain all this, I'll be starting something that will take years... Troublesome man! He just wants to avoid the subject!'
As Gandalf silently glared at him in the wake of this cunning maneuver, Igris shamelessly shrugged his flour-covered shoulders, declaring his victory.
"That's exactly what I'm talking about! If you can't be bothered to explain those subjects, then I can't be bothered to explain mine! It's a simple matter for me, but once I open that can of worms, it'll make you ask hundreds of questions! So let's drop it. Just assume I know the information about you through my own ability; trust me, that will be the most profitable and least complicated option for the both of us."
Following this blackmail-laden proposal, Gandalf rapidly weighed the situation in his mind. Igris, on the other hand, was careful to think absolutely nothing, right from the moment he mentioned the subject. If curious eavesdroppers like Galadriel were around and happened to read this conversation from his mind, he could be dragged into an endless, century-long discussion. For a moment, the wizard didn't know what to say; yet a voice inside him whispered that the man was actually sincere in what he had just said, and that the reason for keeping this secret to himself was not some grand conspiracy, but merely sheer laziness to explain. Deciding to postpone the matter for now, he let out a deep sigh.
"We will discuss this later, Igris."
Igris nodded and waved him off with his floury hand.
"Sure, sure~ we'll see."
Gandalf felt the throbbing in his temples once again. Over the centuries, he had met countless humans, dwarves, elves, and all sorts of strange creatures across Middle-earth; but this man called Igris was entirely in a category of his own. He was one of those rare individuals who actually managed to drive Gandalf to his wit's end. Closing his eyes once more, he let out an exhausted sigh and contented himself with asking only the most important question of the moment.
"What is your goal, Igris?"