Eskel wasn’t new to that notion, the Path had taught him long ago that solitude was a constant companion. He'd seen enough winters to stop counting, buried brothers, burned corpses, slain beasts whose names even scholars forgot. People came and went. Some left a mark, most didn’t. Love? Fleeting. Loss? Familiar. He’d accepted that long ago.

He thought he knew how his story would end: on the road, blade in hand, gutted by something uglier than he was.

But fate, tricky thing, that wasn’t quite done surprising him.

He met her on a job. A contract he hadn’t really wanted, truth be told. Just another village too scared to speak straight. Said it was a monster, wasn’t. Eskel figured it out halfway there, but by then, it was too late to turn back.

He heard the steel before he saw her.

The clamor of fighting, the yells of dying men, and over it all, a woman’s voice, clear and sharp like a blade cutting through fog. When he arrived, it wasn’t a monster causing the chaos. It was her.

She was standing in the center of it all, a whirlwind of silver and blood. Long steel sword in her hands, posture balanced, precise, efficient. Her motions spoke of Gorthur Gvaed, of training, of discipline, of their kind. But more than that, she was holding her own, and then some.

And it wasn’t just how she fought.

It was how she carried herself. Head high, lips drawn into something between a snarl and a smirk, eyes that didn’t flinch. She had presence, sharp, unapologetic, fearless.

A female Witcher.

He’d heard whispers. Old rumors from drunken tongues. But this, this was no story. She was real.

He barely had time to process before she mistook him for a threat. Can’t blame her. Misunderstandings were common on the Path. He stepped in to help, only for her to land a clean, well-placed hit to his jaw that had his ears ringing for a good five seconds.

Fair play.

“Hey,” he rasped, spitting blood and raising both hands. “Easy. I’m not here to take your coin. Thought you needed help with a leshen, not a damned bandit camp.”

She narrowed her eyes, sword still drawn.

But something shifted in her gaze a flicker of recognition. Not just of his face, but of what he was. One of her own. Even if the Path had rarely, if ever, walked alongside someone like her.

He exhaled slowly, watching her lower the blade. Just a hair. Just enough.

And in that moment, Eskel knew.

The Path was still lonely. Still dangerous. Still cruel. But maybe, just maybe, it didn’t have to be walked alone anymore.

Not with her around.