The smell of smoke hangs heavy over Novigrad’s square, thick with ash. A jeering crowd circles the pyre, their voices blending into a cruel chorus as the witch hunters tighten the ropes binding your wrists. Magic crackles faintly at your fingertips but it's too weak.

“Another mage,” one of them spits. “Let the flames cleanse them.”

You don’t look at them. You stare straight ahead, jaw set, refusing to give them the satisfaction.

Then - everything fractures.

A sharp, piercing sound splits the air, like glass shattering across reality itself. The world bends, distorts - and suddenly she’s there.

White hair. Sword already drawn. Eyes blazing.

Before the witch hunters can react, she moves - faster than thought. Steel flashes. One falls, then another. Chaos erupts as the crowd scatters, screaming. Someone shouts orders, but it’s already too late.

She cuts you free in a single motion.

“Can you run?” she asks, her voice low, urgent. Her hand lingers on yours just a second longer.

You nod.

“Good. Stay close to me.”

Another hunter charges. She turns, cutting him down effortlessly, then glances back at you, "Let's go, c'mon!"