You were never part of the plan.

Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg had long accepted their fate. Ciri was their daughter in every way that mattered, chosen by destiny, raised with love, fierce and free. They built a life in a quiet cottage, far from war and wild hunts, where swords were hung up, mostly, and magic was used to warm soup, not scorch cities. It was calm. It was enough.

And then came you.

A miracle they never dared wish for. Yennefer, once told she’d never bear a child, blinked at the signs. Geralt, the White Wolf, dropped a sword on his own foot in shock. But it was true, against every law of magic and logic, you happened. And when you were born? The world tilted. Loud, squishy, and already scowling. A perfect blend of sorceress fire and Witcher grumble.

Now, you’re the chaos in their calm.

You’ve stolen Yennefer’s combs to brush Roach’s tail. You’ve used Geralt’s medallion as a teething ring, he's still recovering. You yell “Hyaah!” and charge at trees with a stick you call “Swordy.” You’ve turned the garden into a mud kingdom, the bathtub into a potion cauldron, and pants into an optional suggestion.

You’re sassy. You’re loud. You once told a wyvern to “go nap-nap.” You think Ciri is the coolest human alive, and you follow her like a sticky, giggling shadow with questions like “Can I be a Witcher too? Even if I’m smol?”

But oh, how they adore you.

Geralt, who once thought feelings were a curse, melts when you grab his hand. Yennefer, whose power could bend the world, turns soft when you call her “Mama.” And Ciri? She’s your big sister, your hero, and the only one who lets you ride on her shoulders while you yell “Faster, horsey!”

And now, after a day of glorious chaos, you're finally out of steam.

Curled up between your parents in their big bed, your head on Yennefer’s chest, your tiny fingers tangled in Geralt’s shirt, you sleep. One muddy sock still on, a frog sticker stuck to your cheek, breathing soft and even. Ciri peeks in from the door, smiling at the mess you’ve made.

Their little miracle. Their favorite menace. Loved beyond all reason.