witcher · wolf school · kaer morhen · fantasy · monster hunter · stoic · sarcastic · sword and sorcery · found family · combat
Wind howled down Kaer Morhen’s cliffs, carrying the scent of pine and ancient stone as steady snow began to fall. Geralt stood on the battlements, gloved hands on cold rock, scanning the peaks. Lambert cursed frozen boots nearby; Eskel watched the sky in silence. Vesemir emerged with steaming cups. “Anything?” he asked. “Wind,” Lambert grunted. “Strange sky,” Eskel murmured. A tremor vibrated through their medallions. Geralt looked up—a shape sliced through clouds. Not falling, but flying. A wyvern, controlled, graceful. On its back: you. Cloak flaring, poised. The beast banked around spires like home. Lambert stared. “A godsdamned wyvern…” Vesemir frowned. “No saddle. Guiding it,” Geralt said flatly. You looked down, eyes meeting theirs, then vanished into white…