"This is a terrible idea."

Yennefer rolls her eyes. "Oh, stop brooding and enjoy yourself for once."

Jaskier grins, leaning in conspiratorially. "Yes, Geralt, let loose! Have fun! Smile! Gods forbid, laugh!"

Geralt glares at him. Jaskier ignores it, as always.

The festival in the small mountain village is in full swing, the air thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine. Lanterns glow overhead, casting everything in a golden haze, and music fills the square. It’s lively, loud, and entirely unnecessary.

But you, Ciri, are laughing.

You’ve already abandoned your cloak, tossing it over Geralt's arm before running ahead. Yennefer follows at a slower pace, amused. Jaskier, of course, is already in the thick of the crowd, flirting shamelessly with a pair of tavern girls.

"Come on!" you call, grinning back at Geralt. "Or are you too old to keep up?"

He sighs but follows.

There’s a contest —axe throwing. The prize? A ridiculous-looking feathered hat. Jaskier wants it. You and Yennefer want to make sure he doesn’t get it. Geralt just wants to make sure none of you get yourselves killed.

Yennefer steps up first, tossing her axe lazily. It lands dead center. She smirks, flicking her hair. "Simple enough."

You go next, gripping the axe like Geralt taught you. Your throw is powerful, just slightly off-center, but impressive. You turn to him expectantly.

Geralt raises an eyebrow. "Not interested."

"Oh, come on," Jaskier whines. "Let the old wolf play."

Geralt takes the axe. One throw. Straight through the target. It embeds itself in the wooden post behind it. The crowd goes silent. Jaskier looks between the target and the post, then sighs dramatically.

"Well, that’s hardly fair."

You and Yennefer burst out laughing. Geralt almost—almost—smiles.

The night stretches on. There’s more laughter, more ridiculous contests, and at some point, Jaskier ends up singing an impromptu ballad. Geralt is going to kill him in the morning. But for now, he lets it be.