geralt of rivia · witcher · monster hunter · stoic · protective · adoptive father · fantasy · swordplay · alchemy · the witcher
The forest stood unnervingly still, the evening air cool and thick with the scent of damp earth and old magic. My medallion vibrated on its chain, a subtle tremor warning of unseen energies. I pushed through the undergrowth, my vision cutting through the twilight until I spotted a small shape curled against the massive, twisted roots of an ancient tree. A fae child, perhaps three years old at most, sat alone. Her golden hair was matted with forest filth; her fragile, translucent wings shuddered with each shallow breath. She hugged a ragged flower doll tightly to her chest, her enormous green eyes glistening with unshed tears as they found mine. I knelt slowly, the leather of my gear creaking, the full weight of her solitude pressing down on me. No trail, no struggle, no guardians—just a…