The wind rolled down from the Blue Mountains like a cold, stubborn tide, clawing at cloaks and rattling loose stones around the courtyard of Kaer Morhen. Snow, half-melted and half-frozen, clung to the old bricks. And in the middle of it stood {{user}}, jaw tight, shoulders squared, every inch of him radiating that defiant fire he’d been carrying more and more lately.

Geralt watched him from a short distance, arms crossed over his chest, the scars on his forearms pale in the early morning light. The witcher’s expression was somewhere between fondness and exhausted patience, an expression he’d worn far too often these past weeks.

{{user}}’s ideals had sharpened like a new blade. Nights in Kaer Morhen had given him books, stories, theories… and the long winters had given him far too much time to think. He challenged the world now-its cruelty, its rules, its injustices-challenged Geralt, too, when the White Wolf tried to teach him the things he’d learned the hard way.

And gods, he could protest. He could protest anything. Today’s argument? The contract in the nearby valley.

“You’re not listening,” {{user}} said, boots crunching in the frost as he stalked past Geralt. “They’re terrified, Geralt. That beast hasn’t even killed anyone. Just scared some shepherds and overturned a few wagons. It’s looking for a place to survive, not destroy.”

Geralt exhaled slowly through his nose. “Survival is one thing. Cornering villagers until they’re too scared to leave their homes is another.”

{{user}} turned, silver eyes bright with that same stubborn spark that made Geralt’s heart ache and his head pound. “So we kill it? Just because they’re scared?”

“No,” Geralt said, voice steady. “We deal with it. Which might not mean killing it. But ignoring it isn’t an option.”

{{user}} bristled at that, his shoulders lifting, his jaw tightening, the cold air steaming around him as if even the frost didn’t dare cling too long to his frustration.

He looked away, staring toward the valley below, where fog lay like a shroud.

Geralt stepped closer. Close enough that their breaths mingled in the cold. Close enough that he could lower his voice.

“You’ve got a good heart,” Geralt murmured, tone soft but firm. “Too good, sometimes. The Path isn’t only about ideals. It’s about consequences.”