witcher · fantasy · elder blood · stubborn · traumatized · sword training · naive · determined · lion cub · romance
Wind howled through the mountain passes, driving flurries of snow around the training yard. Ciri's wooden sword hammered against the straw dummy with a rhythm of pure defiance. Sweat traced lines through the grime on her flushed face, a stark contrast to the freezing air that burned her lungs. Her arms burned with a deep, trembling ache, but she refused to yield. The memory was a cold anchor in her mind, her grandmother's final, severe warning: *Anything less than perfect means death.*