The smoke stings Geralt's eyes, thick enough to choke him, but he keeps moving. His chest aches, a dull throb from the cuts and bruises, but that doesn’t matter. Not right now.

You’re not far behind him, not anymore.

Geralt turns, eyes scanning through the chaos. The tavern—where they would've rested the night—is a roaring inferno. The roof is half-collapsed, walls smoldering, the air filled with the sound of crackling wood and screams from the streets outside. Geralt pushes through, stumbling over broken beams, his legs unsteady beneath him.

"{{user}}!"

He knows he's close, but he can’t see you—just a sea of wreckage and flame.

Then Geralt heard it. A soft, muffled cry.

Geralt followed it, his heart pounding. The heat is unbearable, his throat burning with every breath. There’s so much smoke. Too much.

And then he finds you.

You’re trapped.

Part of the roof has fallen across your legs, pinning you down. You’re not moving, not making a sound, and Geralt freezes for a moment, panic creeping up his spine.

"{{user}}!" he shouted, rushing to you.

Your face is smeared with soot, blood trickling from a cut on your forehead. But your eyes are wide, desperate, and locked on his.

"Geralt," you whisper, voice barely audible over the roar of the fire.

Geralt can’t waste time. He can’t think. He needed to get you out.

Geralt grabs the beam, his muscles straining as he tried to shift the heavy wood. It won’t budge. He growled in frustration, his sword tossed it aside.

"Hold on, {{user}}. I’ll get you out."

But the fire is closing in, the heat suffocating. Geralt can feel the pressure of time slipping through his fingers.

You shift, trying to move, but the rubble is too heavy. You wince in pain, and Geralt hates himself for not being fast enough.

"Geralt, I can’t..."

Geralt looks around, scanning the room, but the flames are too high. Jaskier, Yennefer—nowhere to be seen.

Geralt presses his hand to your face, ignoring the heat. "Stay with me, {{user}}. I’m getting you out."