Celia's breath hitched. Though Elise's voice had been weak, she had heard her clearly. Her wrinkled hands gripped the edges of her p, fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress.
There was a deep sorrow in her mother's eyes, but she did not speak against her daughter's resolve. Instead, she inhaled slowly before responding."Make sure to be careful," Celia finally said, her voice soft but firm. "If you need anything, just tell me. I'll let your father know."Elise's gaze softened, and for the first time that evening, a small, tired smile appeared on her lips. "Thank you, Mother."Celia simply nodded, her expression unreadable, before returning to her knitting.Elise excused herself and climbed the narrow wooden stairs leading to her room. The floor creaked softly under her weight as she pushed the door open and stepped inside.Her small yet orderly room greeted her. A sturdy wooden table sat against the far wall, her armor, shield, and mace neatly id out on its surface. The metal gleamed faintly under the light of a small oil mp, waiting for her next battle.She let out a tired sigh, stripping off her worn training clothes before colpsing onto her bed. The mattress was thin, but right now, it felt like heaven against her sore body. She stared at the ceiling for a long moment before her gaze drifted toward her gear on the table.Her fingers curled into fists as her jaw tightened."I'll avenge you, Geralt," she whispered to herself, her eyes darkening with a quiet fury.No matter how long it took, no matter how much she had to endure—she would make them pay.With that final thought, exhaustion finally cimed her, and she closed her eyes, allowing sleep to overtake her aching body.
Outside the Walls of DragnirThe sun had begun its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and deep violet. The faint silhouette of Dragnir City's towering walls loomed in the distance, their grandeur a stark contrast to the small vilge nestled just beyond them.
Unlike the bustling heart of the city, where merchants shouted and steel cshed in training yards, this pce was quieter—a collection of humble homes, the roads unpaved and lined with patches of wild grass and scattered stones.It wasn't much, but it was home.As I made my way through the vilge's winding dirt paths, I adjusted the cloth sack slung over my shoulder, filled with freshly bought food for my family and a small pouch of sweets for the twins.
My legs still ached from today's brutal training, and my clothes stuck to my skin, drenched in dried sweat and grime. The exhaustion weighed on me, but my body had long learned to push through discomfort.Just as I approached my house, a rge wooden carriage caught my attention.Parked in front of the vacant house next to ours, a couple and their son were unloading worn-looking baggage from the carriage.
The man—broad-shouldered with dark, graying hair—moved with quiet efficiency, hauling crates as if he had done this countless times before.
The woman, a slender figure with soft features and auburn hair, busied herself organizing the smaller bags. But it was their son who held my attention the most.He was around my age, taller than me by a few inches, with short bck hair and sharp green eyes that flickered with an unreadable expression.
His posture was stiff, almost guarded, and as he reached for a heavy sack, I noticed the calloused grip of his fingers—the kind that only came from wielding a weapon.I leaned against a nearby fence, watching with mild curiosity.Who would move to the outskirts of Dragnir?This pce wasn't exactly prime nd—it was either a starting point for those with nothing or a st refuge for those running from something.
It made me wonder. Were they a family fallen from grace? Or just another poor household like mine, trying to make ends meet?I frowned slightly. Or maybe I was just being judgmental.Before I could entertain my thoughts further, a sudden high-pitched yell tore through the air."BIG BROTHERRRR!"Before I could react, two tiny missiles unched themselves at me.Aiden and Lyra—my twin younger siblings—stormed out of our house at full speed, their red hair bouncing wildly as they crashed into my legs.
I barely managed to steady myself before they began pulling at my arms, their faces lit with excitement."You're so te!" Lyra pouted, puffing her cheeks. "Did you forget to bring us something?""I bet he did!" Aiden smirked, his bright red eyes glinting mischievously. "He always forgets about us after going to the city."I rolled my eyes. "Oh, really?" I shifted the cloth sack, pulling out the small pouch of sweets. The second they saw it, their expressions flipped like a switch."CANDY!"Before I could hand it over properly, the two little gremlins snatched it from my grasp, ughing as they ran back into the house, giggling like they had just won some great prize.I shook my head with a smirk. "Brats."As the twins disappeared inside, I turned my gaze back to the new neighbors, only to find the boy looking at me with a curious expression. It wasn't hostility or wariness—just quiet observation. I met his gaze for a second before shrugging and walking towards my house.Our two-story house stood among the rest, built from aged bricks and reinforced wood, a sturdy yet unassuming structure.
The windows were small, but enough to let in natural light during the day. It wasn't luxurious, but it was well-maintained—too well-maintained.I gnced at the reinforced door, at the thick wooden beams supporting the roof, at the well-kept edges of the brickwork. It was built with security in mind, not just comfort. I murmured under my breath, my fingers lightly brushing against the doorframe."Are you two hiding from something or someone?"Shaking off the thought, I stepped inside, following the lingering sounds of my siblings' ughter, as the scent of cooked stew and freshly baked bread welcomed me home.
The moment I stepped inside, the familiar scent of spiced stew and freshly baked bread filled my senses, wrapping around me like a comforting embrace. The living room and kitchen shared an open space, the only divide being a sturdy wooden counter where my mother often prepared meals.
A rough-hewn dining table sat at the center, its surface slightly worn but well-maintained. The soft crackling of the firepce cast flickering shadows against the brick walls, giving the room a cozy warmth despite the chill outside.At the table sat my father, his broad frame rexed as he sipped from a wooden cup. His bck hair streaked with silver, was tied back loosely, and his sharp crimson eyes, much like mine, flickered up at me as I entered. Across from him, my mother, turned in her seat, her dark red hair neatly braided over one shoulder. She had a beauty that was both refined and fierce, her gaze always sharp enough to cut through lies.The moment they saw me, my father arched a brow.
