Shifting Shadows

Scars and Souvenirs

*With any luck I would make it to Oxenfurt in a few days time depening on how fast I walked and how many breaks I took. Rolling up my sleeves and checking the signposts one more time it was time to hit the road.*

The Whispering Woods which slowly began to engulf the path from Corws Perch stretched out before me, a tangle of ancient trees which whistled in the evening wind and moss-covered stones paved the narrow path which was leading me deeper and deeper into the forest. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth and I watched as the sun was slowly moving through the sky preparing to make its journey to hide and sleep behind the horizon. Stepping along the narrow path, the leaves crunched under my boots, and the sunlight filtered through the canopy above, casting dappled shadows on the ground. I was well aware that nightfall was going to be coming quick, the sky was already turning vibrant streaks of reds, organes and yellows; and although the sights were indeed very pretty and wonderful to look at my focus would soon have to shift to finding a place to rest.

Ive heard tales of Oxenfurt, the fabled city nestled in the middle of the large river cutting through the landscape. A place where magic flowed like the river that wound through its heart, where scholars studied forgotten texts in candlelit libraries, and where secrets whispered in the wind. I truly hoped the city was just as wonderful as all the stories had described it. I could feel my heart begin to quicken as i let my imagination run wild, I could almost see the spires rising above the treetops, the cobbled streets bustling with merchants and minstrels, the bustling life of the city and the students and teachers rushing about throughout the great library trying to make it on time. I couldnt help but notice the wide smile that had slowly crept up on me, warming my cheeks as I mindelessly followed the path.

But the path ahead was treacherous. Old legends and tales spoke of enchanted creatures that guarded the way—sprites that danced in moonlight, gnarled tree spirits and leshens that tested a traveler's resolve, and the elusive Watcher, who saw all and judged those who sought passage to the city. Swallowing back the fear that rose inside me i adjusted the strap of my satchel and pressed on. The forest seemed to close in around me, the trees leaning in as if to whisper secrets of the past. I couldnt help but wonder what awaited him in Oxenfurt—knowledge, adventure, perhaps even fortune. But first, he had to navigate the winding trail, its twists and turns leading deeper into the heart of the woods. This journey was most definitely worth it if it meant that Geralt wouldnt find me again, change of clothes, change my name and cut my hair. I needed to become a new person entirely.

As I continiued to walk across the heavily beaten path,  my attention was drawn to the play of light and shadow on the mossy ground. The air grew cooler, and the rustling leaves took on a melodic rhythm. It felt as though I was  stepping into a tale spun by bards around a tavern fire—a tale of bravery, of quests undertaken, and of destinies entwined. A smile once again emerged on my face as I recalled the bard from the witcher keep, Jaskier, he was such a jolly and expressionate man. He was indeed lovely- just a crying shame he mingled with the likes of Geralt. With a sigh my journey continiued and so, with each step, I moved closer to the city of my dreams and the promise of a new life. The path narrowed, the trees leaned in further, and the whispers grew louder, their words bouncing around my skull like flies trapped under a glass. A shiver ran down my spine and I began to wonder if the legends were true—if the Watcher would appear, if the sprites would dance, and if I would make it out of these woods in one piece.

But for now, I needed to keep walking, my heart full of anticipation, it felt as though I was being  guided by some kind of ancient magic, an instinct as one would say that pulsed beneath my feet and streamed throuhg the air. The forest held its breath as I pressed on,  the air grew colder, and the shadows clung to the ancient trees like memories. The path twisted, revealing glimpses of moss-covered stones and gnarled roots that seemed to reach out, as if beckoning me to venture deeper and deeper into the darkness.

It was then that I heard it—a soft, haunting melody. Feeling my hairs standing on end I froze on the path and closed my eyes- desparately trying to convice myself that this was just my mind playing tricks on me. After all this forest was known to sway travellers in the wrong direction and even make some people see things. Calming myself dow with some rational thoughts I kept walking, the sound following me with every step. I had soon come to realise it came from a forlorn figure standing just off the path.

The figure was cloaked in a tattered robe, its hood pulled low to conceal its face. Eamon's heart raced as he approached, unsure whether to flee or stay. The melody grew louder, weaving through the trees like a silver thread, pulling him closer.

"Lost traveler," the figure whispered, its voice a blend of sorrow and longing, yet soft and inviting like your bed after a long day of work.

The figure continiued, "You seek Oxenfurt, do you not?"

Uneasy on my feet I couldnt do anthing else but nod, unable to tear his eyes away from the figure who seemed to know my sedination even though I dont recall ever mentoning it out loud. "How do you know?"

The hood shifted, revealing eyes as ancient as the forest itself. "I am the Guardian of the Path," it said. "I watch over those who tread this trail, and I offer a choice."

I swallowed hard as I nodded ready to hear what the guardian had to say "I'm ready for whatever you throw at me" my hands trembling with fear

"Remain true, or perish" his words resonating throuhg the trees, his voice now powerful enough that the birds which had previously rested on the branches above took flight, filling the amber coloured sky with black specks 

I felt my mouth go dry as I answered "Ill keep true-" unsure if that was the answer he was looking for. My body still trembling immensely from this encounter, not knowing what to expect from the Guardian, after all for most of my life I believed him to be nothing more but a story to scare kids from entering the forests. 

And then, just as the shadows deepened, I saw it: a flickering light ahead. It danced between the gnarled trunks, illuminating the mossy ground. My heart once again began to race. I slowly drew closer, the light resolved into a blue-green fire—not like any flame I have ever seen, brighter than any flame mages could conjure up the heat eminating from it was inviting and- dare I say almost friendly? It seemed to pulse with a life of its own, casting eerie shadows on the forest floor. I hesitated following the path illuminated by what I could only describe as an apparition, but the melody urged me forward, the song of the forest now harmonizing with the flame's dance. The Guardian materialized beside the fire, its hood pulled back to reveal eyes that held the wisdom of centuries, sunked deep into his face, the flame illuminating the withered and gaunt shape of the Guardians face, each crack and dip in the skin could now be seen clearly.

"Y/N," it said, its voice a whisper carried by the wind. "This is the Pathfinder's Flame. It will guide you to Oxenfurt, but only if your heart remains true."

I felt my breath catch in the top of the throat. The flame beckoned, and I was inclined to step closer. Its warmth was otherworldly, and he felt as though it knew his deepest desires—the answers I have sought, the mysteries I longed to unravel. The Guardian extended a hand, and I hesitated no longer. My hand moved closer to the flame, expecting searing heat, but instead, it enveloped him like a silken cloak, engulfled by comfort and serentity. The world blurred, and suddenly, I no longer found myself on the forest path. A plume of mist or smoke or maybe even clouds, I could not longer tell where I was, some otherworldy dimension perhaps? I stood at the edge of this luminous trail—a ribbon of light that wound through the mist leading me. The flame danced ahead, illuminating the way. I followed, my steps soundless on the misty floor as though I was levitating a mere centimeter off the ground, as I diligently followed the flame throuhg the thick mist. Finally, the mist began to clear and I found myself stepping onto the cobbled path just outside the bridge leading to Oxenfurt. The flame flickered, then vanished, leaving me standing in front of the Western Gate. As the fog perished the cobbled streets bustled with scholars, minstrels, and merchants could be heard from behind the great walls—the very tapestry of magic and mystery I had dreamed of.

But the flame's warmth lingered within me, I could feel it moving through my veins, as if it had resided within me after the journey, I realise now that the Pathfinder's Flame had not merely lit the way—it had ignited something deeper.