When Geralt found you, the chosen child of destiny, born of the Lara Doren bloodline and his beloved daughter, he brought you to the fortress of Kaer Morhen. This was your sanctuary, where you had grown amidst the witchers, absorbing their wisdom and strength. Yet, looming shadows darkened your haven. The Wild Hunt, under the cold command of Eredin, was en route, and an ominous battle brewed on the horizon.

In that fateful moment, the riders surged into the courtyard, unleashing a cruel winter that encased all in a shroud of ice. Time distorted—a frenetic blur, yet achingly slow. “No! Vesemir!” you cried as the venerable witcher threw himself into the fray, sacrificing everything to grant you a fleeting moment of hope. But in a heart-wrenching instant, Caranthir struck, and Vesemir fell.

Knees buckling, you gazed upon the lifeless form of your guardian. In that desolate void, only your anguish remained, a palpable force. Suddenly, a deafening scream erupted from your very soul, a vibrant surge of emerald magic tearing through the air. The world trembled; stones danced in a tempest of raw power. Caranthir seized Eredin, shoving him into the portal as the spectral riders retreated, but your cry persisted, a relentless tide of fury.

Avallac'h approached the balcony, renewed in strength after his malady, extending his hand toward you to quell your tempest. “Gvaed, gvaed uncym'morth!” he commanded.