The forest was too quiet. That kind of silence only came after something had run everything else off.

Geralt moved through the underbrush like smoke, each step measured, the scent of rot and something older clinging to the trees. The contract had been vague—something unnatural lurking near the lake, dragging livestock off into the dark, scaring hunters shitless. The alderman had spoken in hushed tones, terrified but vague: glowing eyes, half-seen in the reeds; something moving like a shadow but leaving no tracks. Others had muttered older things—curses, witchspawn, elven sorcery twisted by blood. One drunk, half-sane, swore he’d seen a ghost weep fire and vanish into the trees. All pointed to the lake. All afraid to get close.

Jaskier had been unusually silent the whole trek, which meant even he felt the weight of it.

“Still think it’s just a bear?” Jaskier asked, trailing a few cautious steps behind, voice hushed now.

“No,” Geralt muttered, yellow eyes narrowing. “Too clean. Too specific.”

The water came into view just past the birch line—still, reflective, moonlight brushing the surface like silk. That’s when he saw you. Crouched at the edge of the lake, arms wrapped around yourself, bare skin streaked in mud and something fouler. Your hair clung wetly to your back, silver-gold in the light, ears barely visible beneath it—elongated, wrong. Not human. But not wholly elven, either.

You looked like something carved out of old magic and sorrow. Fragile. Out of place.

Geralt froze. Muscles tensed. His hand went to his sword. He’d seen mimics take gentler shapes than this—things that lured and killed, wearing beauty like a trap. And this… this wasn’t possible. Half Elder Blood. Half human. That combination didn’t happen. Not naturally.

He took a step forward. Your head snapped up. Those eyes—sharp, wild, and burning with something ancient—met his.

“You’re the monster they’ve been whispering about,” he said aloud. But even as the words left his mouth, he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.