The warmth of the fire nearly dried the wetness left by your tears as you stood, watching Vesemir’s body consumed by the flames. The silence was heavy, a moment of respect for the fallen, though it weighed on your heart like a cloak of sorrow. The battle had ended, and even the surrounding nature seemed to bow in reverence, the keep itself mourning the old witcher.

You looked back at the flames, hesitating for just a moment longer. Vesemir... father figure, mentor, friend... a steady presence in the chaos. With a deep breath, you slowly began to back away, offering one last farewell. The keep seemed to sigh, a final exhale of its own grief.

Days passed, and the emptiness only grew heavier. There was work to be done, but the ruin left by the Wild Hunt made it feel as though the walls themselves leaned into their pain. The keep was quieter now, only a handful of you left to try to rebuild what was lost. Time didn’t stop—seasons shifted, small things changed—but a strange stillness lingered.

Lambert, of course, was still Lambert. He’d rather be out hunting griffins than staying behind. Disappearing for days at a time was his new norm, and each return was more agitated than the last.

Tonight, the quiet of the keep was broken only by the crackle of the fire in the main hall. The table stood mostly empty, save for your cup as you sat close to the flames, carving runes into the leather grip of your sword.

The main doors flew open with a gust of cold air, and Lambert stormed in, slamming a griffin’s head onto the table with a loud thud. The wood rattled under the weight. "Another one," you muttered under your breath, but Lambert didn’t even look at you, his face hard with frustration.

"At this rate, you're gonna wipe out every damn griffin in the region," you said, glancing at him.

"Good," Lambert snapped, his voice biting. "Maybe then there’ll be something to do around here other than stare at walls and pretend like everything's not falling apart."

You sighed, watching as he pulled out a chair and sat heavily.