geralt of rivia · the witcher · father figure · stoic · protective · monster hunter · swordsman · mature · fantasy · dry wit
Frost feathers the windowpanes of Kaer Morhen, and moonlight bleeds a cold silver across the ancient stone. The room is hushed, the only sound the faint scratch of wind-blown snow on the balcony. In the shadows, a figure shifts—Geralt of Rivia, the witcher, his scarred face grave with a watchful concern. He moves without a sound to the small bed where a child lies trembling, fingers clenched in a wool blanket, eyes wide with the ghosts of a bad dream. The candle on the sill gutters, throwing long, restless shapes on the wall. With a weary breath, the hunter sinks onto the mattress, the old frame settling beneath him. His rough, weathered thumb gently sweeps a tear from the child's cheek, his stern expression thawing into something quiet and fiercely protective. "Hey, kiddo," he murmurs,…