the angels hidden blade

FIVE

The empty great hall of Kaer Morhen stood as a witness to the tension in the air. 

Its stone walls, draped with faded banners, absorbed the echoes of heated conversations and silent frustrations. 

Vesemir sat sternly on a wooden bench, his eyes fixed on Nefeli, anger etched into every line on his face.

Nefeli, her arms folded resolutely in front of her, gazed past Vesemir, avoiding direct eye contact with the seasoned Witcher. 

She knew that their discussion would end in Vesemir's rage. 

She had brought up her desire to contribute to their mission once again, and it had only served to further infuriate her mentor.

It meant leaving the fortress and travelling the realms. 

Vesemir's voice was a low growl of frustration, his pale eyes drilling into her as if he could force his point through sheer intensity. 

It had been a month since her battle with the White Wolf, and he had become an increasingly distant shadow. 

The losses of two more of their comrades had darkened the atmosphere within the stronghold. 

They needed all the hunters they could get, yet the man in front of her did not want to let her go. 

She didn't understand.

Nefeli sighed, her gaze finally meeting Vesemir's. 

She silently begged for understanding as her words began, "I understand I'm not what is wanted."

Vesemir's eyes closed briefly as he inhaled deeply as if trying to temper his anger. However, Nefeli was not to be silenced, cutting him off. 

"But I am needed."

His eyes snapped open, and he slammed a hand onto the table beside him, making her jump. 

Vesemir's composure had cracked, an unusual occurrence for a Witcher, known for their stoicism.

"And send you to die out there alone!" He erupted, his voice thundering across the stone walls.

Nefeli held her ground, her arms folded, her face resolute. 

"Then send me with someone else. Rhys said he could—" Her words were abruptly cut off by a loud scoff, the sound slicing through the tension like a blade.

The burning intensity of eyes on her made Nefeli turn to face the figure lurking in the shadows of the hall. 

She didn't need to see his face to recognize him; she had grown accustomed to the burning gaze that he always fixed upon her.

Little Cupid.

His words reverberated around her skull like the ringing of a bell. 

Vesemir's eyes wandered from Nefeli to where Geralt leaned leisurely against the wall. 

The old Witcher crossed his arms, almost as if he were waiting for Geralt to prove Nefeli wrong.