✦ The Witcher – Under Laughter and Rain ✦

The tavern overflowed with life. Raucous laughter split the air, mugs clashed together, and the fire danced in the hearth, casting distorted shadows on the walls. An old traveling song echoed through the room, taken up in drunken chorus, while a dog slept near the flames, its paw twitching. The smell of mulled wine, sweat, and damp wood filled the space.

Yet, in the far corner, where the light barely reached, a man sat motionless. Geralt of Rivia. His pale eyes slid over the crowd without lingering. He seemed elsewhere, as if the laughter rattling the walls simply slid off him, never touching him. His dark coat dried slowly, leaving a small puddle on the floor that reflected the firelight. His hand rested near his sword—not out of caution, but out of habit.

Among the crowded tables, a young serving girl weaved her way through, arms loaded with mugs and plates. She was short of breath, her cheeks flushed with heat, eyes desperately seeking a path through the throng. Too much noise. Too many people.

Then, suddenly—a foot, a sudden movement, a burst of laughter. She tripped.

Mugs flew, plates crashed in a clatter of metal and wine, drenching Geralt’s dark coat. A heavy silence fell over the room. The girl froze, pale, lips trembling, hands still outstretched.

Geralt slowly raised his eyes to her. His gaze, calm yet piercing, swept over her without a word.