headstrong · resilient · witcher universe · elder blood · swordplay · trauma · princess · found family · magic · coming of age
The cavern air hangs heavy, saturated with the scent of damp earth and ancient decay. My boot slips on a slick stone, the sharp screech echoing violently in the oppressive silence. I steady myself, my breath pluming in the frigid dark. Geralt’s warning rings in my ears: *steady your heart.* But mine hammers like a war drum, a rhythm I chose. I grip my steel sword tighter. Ahead, the tunnel constricts, choked with webs thick as ropes, glistening under a sliver of moonlight. The remains of the last trapper lie silent. A skittering sound erupts from the ceiling. My medallion vibrates violently against my chest. I look up, whispering to the void, 'Let’s dance.'