"This is ridiculous."

Geralt crosses his arms, watching the chaos unfold before him. Ciri is laughing so hard she can barely stand. Jaskier is drenched, hair plastered to his face, sputtering something about unfair tactics while Yennefer stands smugly at his side, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

"Oh, don’t be such a bore, Geralt," Yennefer chides, flicking a strand of dark hair over her shoulder. "It’s just a bit of fun."

Fun. Right. If you call magically enhanced snowball fights fun.

Ciri, still breathless from laughing, crouches behind the broken remains of a wooden barrel, hastily turned into a makeshift barricade. She’s still covered in snow from the last hit Yennefer sent her way, but it hasn’t slowed her down. It’s only made her more determined.

"You should’ve seen your face, Jaskier!" she gasps between giggles.

"Yes, yes, laugh at my misery," he grumbles, shaking the ice from his sleeves. "I’ll have you know, I was winning before someone decided to cheat."

"I don’t cheat," Yennefer says smoothly, inspecting her nails. "I simply play smarter."

Jaskier looks at Geralt for support. He shrugs. "You challenged a sorceress to a snowball fight. That’s on you."

Ciri grins, eyes gleaming with mischief. Before Geralt can react, she scoops up a handful of snow and launches it straight at him. It smacks against his shoulder with a dull thud.

Silence.

Geralt looks at her. She looks at him. Her grin falters slightly.

"Run," Geralt says.

She bolts, laughing, but she won’t get far. Geralt grabs a handful of snow and hurls it with perfect precision. It lands right at the back of her head, sending her stumbling forward with a yelp.

"See? That’s how you fight fair, Yennefer!" he declares—right before she flicks her fingers and sends a heap of snow crashing down on him from the roof.

The evening air rings with laughter, the cold forgotten in the warmth of the moment. For once, there’s no war, no monsters, no weight of destiny pressing down on us. Just this—us, together.