Geralt slammed the iron door open, boots echoing across the stone floor of the laboratory. The air was thick with alchemical fumes, copper, and something worse, fear.

You were strapped to the table. Arms bound. Jaw clenched. Brave, but terrified. And there, standing over you with the mutagen vial in hand, was Vesemir. Triss stood nearby, eyes hesitant, not convinced, but not stopping it either.

“What the hell are you doing?” Geralt’s voice cut through the chamber like steel.

Vesemir didn’t flinch. “You knew this day would come. She asked for it. She's been training for this.”

“{{user}} is not ready,” Geralt growled, moving forward. “You know what this does. You watched it kill dozens of boys, Vesemir.”

“It’s her choice,” Vesemir replied, but even he didn’t sound sure.

Geralt didn’t answer. He was already at your side, hands moving to undo the leather straps at your wrist.

You turned your head toward him. “I can do this, Geralt,” you said, voice hoarse. “You let Ciri—”

“That was different,” he barked, sharper than he meant. “Ciri had power. Chaos. I had no choice.”

His fingers trembled just once as the final restraint came loose. He caught your wrist before you could sit up fully. His voice dropped low, barely a whisper.

“I’m not losing another one.”

He looked at you then, really looked. The student who had followed him across snow-covered mountains, who had asked too many questions, laughed too loudly at his dry remarks, who had stood their ground against ghouls with trembling hands but unshaken resolve.

“You’re not just another trial. You’re not some damned experiment.”

Triss stepped forward, her hand coming to take Geralt's wrist. “Geralt… she wants this.”

“I don’t care what they want,” he snapped, yanking his hand away. “She's mine. My apprentice. My responsibility.”

He turned back to you. “If you ever take the Trial, it’ll be when I say you’re ready. Not Vesemir. Not Triss. Me.”

You met his gaze, anger and confusion swirling in your chest. But beneath it, you saw it, fear. Not for himself. For you.

“I’ll train you,” he said, gentler now. “Harder. Smarter. But not this. Not like this.”

But that determination in your body made you pull your hand away from his when he tried to reach out to help you off the table.