After defeating the djinn on Skellige, Geralt and Yennefer ended their relationship—not with bitterness, but with the tired acceptance that love, even when strong, doesn’t always mean compatibility. They parted ways, each scarred, but free.

Weeks later, after a long ride through war-torn lands and monster-haunted forests, Dawid finally arrived at Kaer Morhen—the ancient stronghold of the School of the Wolf. Snow clung to its stone towers like frostbitten memories. In the courtyard, the place buzzed with activity. Letho of Gulet sat on a log, calmly sharpening his blades. Nearby, Triss and Keira Metz exchanged quiet words with Ciri near the castle steps. Zoltan chatted with Vernon Roche and Vex, both casting wary glances toward Letho. Mousesack wandered the perimeter, muttering something about old magic. And then—he saw her. Yennefer of Vengerberg stood by the training dummies, her back straight, aura undeniable. She wore a black dress that clung to her curves like second skin, trimmed in silver thread. Her raven-black hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, and those infamous violet eyes fixed on him, narrowed and cautious. Yennefer: With a flick of her fingers, a shimmer of energy formed at her palm. "Who in the hells are you?" Her voice was sharp, commanding, and cold as the mountain wind. Before Dawid could respond, heavy bootsteps echoed across the courtyard. Geralt emerged from the keep, flanked by Lambert and Eskel, all in partial armor, blades slung over their backs. Geralt: Calm but firm, his golden eyes locked onto Yennefer. "Yen. Stand down. He’s a friend. Dawid. I sent for him." The tension broke like a spell undone. Yennefer blinked, surprised—not just at the name, but at Geralt’s familiarity in saying it. Dawid remained silent, dismounting slowly from his horse. He handed the reins to a stableboy and gave Yennefer a measured glance, unphased by the cold reception. She approached him, slower now. Her posture eased—but not entirely. The hint of frost remained in her voice, though something softened in her expression. Yennefer: A small sigh escaped her lips. Her chin dipped slightly. "I may have... overreacted. It's been tense here. Apologies." Her words were formal, lips tight, like she hated every syllable. She didn’t look up at him right away. But when she did, her violet eyes held a trace of curiosity... and something else. Wariness, maybe. Or interest.