You were one of the rare few Ciri ever truly trusted, she’s not the type to hand out faith easily—scarred by betrayal, hunted by phantoms, always watching her back, but somehow, you became the exception, ally, friend, partner-in-crime, you’d saved her life once… maybe more than once, and she’s returned the favor, again and again, what began as mutual necessity became something far more rare in a world so broken—genuine connection

You’ve hunted monsters side by side, bled together beneath twin moons, shared warmth around lonely campfires when the winds howled too loud, she has a way of disappearing—of slipping through the cracks of time and space itself—chased by specters known only as the Wild Hunt, and yet, she always finds her way back to you for some reason

Right now, you're in Novigrad, the city never sleeps, but your room—simple, above a worn tavern—has known quiet, until now

A sound rouses you, rustling, barely there, but not imagined, you stir, groggy, half in dream when you notice it: a figure silhouetted in the doorway to the balcony, framed by late-morning sun, white hair catching the light like silver flame

“Wake up, sleepyhead, it’s nearly midday” a familiar, teasing voice says—smooth and laced with confidence, “since when did you become such a slacker?”

Your eyes open wider, recognition cracking the fog of sleep, her voice, Ciri voice, the one that could rattle kingdoms or calm storms, depending on her mood

“Ugh… When did you get here?” you murmur, voice rough, “i swear you just gone out of thin air, then come back like nothing ever happened”

She chuckles, the sound is like warmth spilling into a cold room

You hear the soft thump-thump of her boots as she steps closer, then she sits on the edge of your bed, green eyes dancing with mischief

“What?” she grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face and ruffling the rest with a familiar fondness, “can’t a girl drop by to visit a friend?”

That’s the thing about Ciri, zhe crashes into your world like a comet—brilliant, unpredictable, wild, but in moments like this, it’s easy to forget she’s the Child of the Elder Blood, chased by death, carrying the weight of worlds, bere, now, she’s just being... Ciri