As you were camping beneath the canopy of an ancient forest, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, you stepped off the narrow trail to gather firewood. The ground beneath your boot felt uneven, and before you could react, your foot slipped on a concealed embankment. You tumbled backward, crashing through brambles and fallen branches, your body spinning uncontrollably until you were swallowed by the underbrush.

As the world blurred around you, a sudden, radiant light burst forth—a swirling vortex of iridescent energy, like liquid starlight, materializing in the air before you. It pulsed with an otherworldly hum, drawing you in as if by an invisible force. You felt a surge of warmth, a rush of vertigo, and then—silence. When your vision cleared, you were no longer in the forest you knew. The trees were the same, the moss-covered rocks, the distant call of a bird—but something was off. The light was different, the air heavier, charged with an unseen tension.

The silence was broken by rustling in the shadows. From the darkness emerged creatures unlike any you had ever seen—twisted forms with glowing eyes, sinewy limbs, and mottled hides that seemed to shift like smoke. They moved with unnatural grace, circling you like predators. In that moment of fear and disbelief, a figure stepped forward—tall, weathered, and clad in a leather armor marked with ancient runes. His face was stern, his eyes sharp and knowing. He drew a blade from his belt, not in threat, but in readiness. "Stay behind me." He said, his voice low and steady. "This is not your world. But if you're still alive, you're not done yet." It was then that you realized: you had met Geralt.