To Trust a Witcher

Dreams from the Past

My city is on fire as Nilfgaardian soldiers breach the gate, killing knights and defenseless citizens and marching to the castle. To me.

My heart tears in two as no matter how hard I try, I can still hear my people screaming over the clanging of swords and grunts of soldiers wielding their swords.

"Cirilla."

My grandmother's desperation is evident on her face. I see her panic. I've never seen her like this before. She has always appeared calm, strong, and confident. Always confident. Always so sure of her decisions. Now, I see regret all over her face at whatever news Mousesack gave her.

Despite being so weak due to her wounds that have been left untreated, my grandmother finds the strength to tightly wrap her bloody hands around my wrists, to the point it almost hurts.

She chokes out, "Find Geralt of Rivia. He is your destiny."

She lets me go, but I still feel something hovering over my skin. I look down, and there is blood on my wrists. My own grandmother's blood. It has left a mark on my skin.

I look up at her again, her dark eyes on mine, trying to find if I have understood her request. All I see are her cheeks, marred with dirt and blood.

Before I can say anything, the doors burst open, and soldiers with black armor stream into the room.

Nilfgaard is here? Already? No! I should have more time with her. This is not how it's supposed to go!

Mousesack tries to defend us, but it's too late. A Nilfgaardian soldier has struck him down with a sword. Lazlo is the next to go down. I see the blood spewing from his neck all the way to the wall next to him.

I throw myself back as a scream escapes from my mouth. I am stuck here. There is no other way out of this room besides the door the soldiers have come in through.

Just as I think that I've landed in the worst situation possible, a figure emerges from the soldiers, and I recognize him immediately. He wears a helmet with black feathers on it.

"No," I breathe out. Just not him. Not him.

His mouth opens. "Ciri." He says. No, that's not his voice, but I don't pay attention. I am too busy clamoring back until my back hits the wall.

I still haven't stopped screaming.

He slides his sword out of his sheath and approaches me calmly. This is not how it's supposed to end. This is not how the story goes.

I don't move as he lifts the sword over his head. I'm a coward. All I can do is wait for my death and scream. The blade shines in the candlelight as he brings it down over my body.

"Ciri!"

I break out of the dream, gasping and coughing. I feel wetness on my cheeks, proof I had been crying while sleeping. My throat burns, as if I have overused it. Had I been screaming out loud?

There's a hand on my shoulder, and I make eye contact with the person who woke me up. Geralt is on his knees next to where I had laid to sleep, his golden eyes on mine as he is assessing the situation.

Gods, this is embarrassing. This is the third time he's seen it this week. I wish these nightmares would stop, but I have a feeling that they will not anytime soon. They haven't for nearly an entire year. Why would they stop now?

"Ciri, are you okay?" He asks. I see his jaw clench slightly, telling me he's frustrated.

It's been difficult to read him, with him being so stoic most of the time. He's good at masking his emotions, that's for sure. Still, this past week, I've learned some of his tells, especially if he's annoyed by something.