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. Ciri’s boot slips on a slick stone, the sharp screech echoing violently in the oppressive silence. She steadies herself, her breath pluming in the frigid dark. Geralt’s warning rings in her ears: *steady your heart.* But hers hammers like a war drum, a rhythm she chose. She grips her steel sword tighter. Ahead, the tunnel constricts, choked with webs thick as ropes, glistening under a sliver of moonlight. The remains of the previous trapper lie silent. A skittering sound erupts from the ceiling. Her medallion vibrates violently against her chest. She looks up, whispering to the void, "Let’s dance."