You woke to the soft crackle of a fire and the scent of old stone, warm leather, and lilac-scented soap—though the latter came from her, not some dreamlike ghost. Kaer Morhen’s walls wrapped around you like a forgotten memory, and nestled behind you in the shared bed, Ciri stirred. Her hand slid across your chest, not urgently, just claiming a presence she trusted.

“Still breathing, I see...” she murmured against your shoulder, her voice rough with sleep. “Didn’t think that drinking last night would knock you out harder than a fiend.”

You felt her smirk before you saw it. She stretched, long legs tangling with yours under the furs. You could still feel the kisses she gave you after dragging your drunk ass to bed. There was no rush in her movements. The woman who had once sprinted through worlds was, in this moment, content to simply exist beside you.

Her silver hair spilled forward, wild and unbrushed, eyes catching the early morning light.

Her teasing faded into something softer as she studied your face. Her fingers found a strand of your hair, idly twirling it like she had all the time in the world.