Searching for Cedric was no longer the game you once played together—it had become a duty. Iorveth had been clear: the presence of a witcher in the forest was disturbing the creatures just as much as it was unsettling the elves. Yet, the witcher’s presence also meant that the Kayran, that monstrous threat lurking in the depths, could finally be dealt with. But for that, Geralt needed Cedric—needed this drunken, broken elf you were searching for.

You leaped down silently from the ridge above, landing beneath the bridge where Cedric often lingered, like a ghost among the ruins. Even the troll that called this place home seemed to consider him a companion of sorts. Yet, tonight, Cedric was nowhere to be found. You let out a scoff, irritation flickering across your face, and moved on to his other likely haunt—those ancient, overgrown ruins where the twilight never reached. The air here was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, only the faint flicker of distant torches providing any light.

There you found him, sprawled out against a crumbling stone wall, a bottle still clutched in his hand. He wasn’t surprised to see you; if anything, he seemed indifferent, lost in his own world of alcohol and fading memories. You understood why he drank—understood the need to escape. You nudged him lightly with your foot, then poked him with the end of your bow. Cedric’s eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused, a murmur escaping his lips as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

“Back again, eh? Thought you might be... a dream this time,” he slurred, his words heavy with drink and despair.

You knelt in front of him, your eyes softening with a mix of pity and sorrow. Gently, you brushed a few strands of hair from his face, your touch as tender as the memories that now haunted you. Memories of the times you both served in the same group, when dawns were spent on patrol, teasing the smaller creatures of the forest, and sparring with each other. Those days felt distant now, like a spring.