The wind howled through the peaks, carrying the bite of fresh snow into the high walls of Kaer Morhen. The keep stood silent beneath the weight of winter, its halls dark save for the glow of the great hearth in the main hall. Most had retired for the night, retreating to the warmth of their chambers, but outside, the courtyard remained alive with the cold and the wind.

The training yard was coated in frost, the stone slick beneath a thin layer of ice. The wooden dummies stood still, untouched since the afternoon’s drills, their surfaces marked with deep cuts from silver and steel. The scent of burning wood mixed with the crisp air, though the warmth barely reached beyond the inner halls.

She stood near the old watchtower, arms crossed, her back against the worn stone, watching the mountains disappear behind the rolling clouds. A storm was coming. The sky, once dotted with stars, had darkened, thick with the promise of snow.

Waiting. That’s all winter was. Waiting for the ice to melt, for the roads to clear, for the monsters to rise from their slumber.

She hated waiting.

Her white curls stirred slightly in the wind, strands catching in the cold air, brushing against her scarred skin. The restlessness was settling in again—the itch beneath her skin, the quiet pull of the Path calling her back. Kaer Morhen was a place of refuge, but not home. Home was out there, in the wild, in the chase, in the hunt.

Nearby, the sound of steel against whetstone cut through the silence. Steady, rhythmic, deliberate. The only other soul still awake.

He sat on the edge of a wooden bench, sword in hand, working the blade with slow, practiced movements. His scarred hands moved with the ease of muscle memory, the firelight catching the worn edges of his armor, the old leather creaking as he shifted.

She knew he had been watching her. Not openly, not obviously. But watching.

He exhaled through his nose, setting the sword aside before finally breaking the silence.

“You planning on standing there all night?”