Chapter Text
Nothing could explain it. There wasn't a reasonable answer this time. There wasn't an ache in her chest, like there was when one the Witchers was in need of help. There weren’t any red lines in the whites of her eyes. Her hands didn't darken. There was nothing that told her it was something she was familiar with.
Alas, she could see the white haired girl as clear as day. She could hear her screams as loudly as she could hear Lambert's laughter in the hall.
They scared her — the screams. The sheer terror they brought with them. Even when it ceased, when the vision had vanished again, there remained a faint ringing in her ears, stopping her from simply moving on like it was nothing.
But Kryl wanted to move on. Why was this girl of any concern to her. Never in her life had she seen such a creature — a fairly pretty girl of her own age, splattered in blood that Kryl only assumed was her own, eyes closed, mouth wide, lungs tearing themselves apart.
Kryl pondered it for just another moment, just one more. Before going against everything her body told her, and ignored it. She blocked out the ringing that wouldn't fade in her ears and replaced it with the rhythmic beat of her sword against the wooden dummy that she'd been practicing on for the last hour. It was about the only thing she could do in the Keep.
The Keep.
Home of the Witchers. Sanctuary and practicing grounds of the strong. Or at least the ones who actually survive in the first place.
Kryl wasn't a Witcher, she never would be. For one, all of the men believed her too weak for such a painful process. But more importantly, it's just not possible anymore. New Witchers hadn't been created in years. Ones the ones at the Keep all died, there would be none left.
She blew another blow to the dummy, one that would have killed an opponent and yet another vision flashed in her front of her.
But just as quickly as it came — it was gone again. She was left staring out at the snow-covered landscape around her.
"Piss off already," she muttered to herself.
That time, the girl hadn't been screaming. She was laying on the floor, her hair splayed out around her head, her eyes lolling shut — but Kryl found that for a moment, she'd locked eyes with her. Yet that wasn't actually possible — it wasn't how visions worked.
Something felt different about this one, it felt less like the visions Kryl usually had, which often told her when someone was back at the Keep, or when one of them got injured. That wasn't something they did, they didn't know Kryl could see it at all — no, this, was a cry for help. Made by the girl, and sent directly into Kryl's mind.
"Fuck." She threw her sword to the ground, ignoring how she jumped a little at loud sound it created as it hit the wood beneath her feet.
Was she going to break Vesemir's rule?
Yes. Yes she was.
She made her way back to the main area of the Keep and walked through the halls, not needing to think about her route at all, it was natural to her now.
The building was empty at the moment, only herself and Vesemir ( a man who was quite like a grandfather to her ), the other Witchers, the ones who'd survived that year, would be joining them shortly.
Monsters and creatures alike didn't much fancy the Winter months, and so they pissed off — giving the Witchers some time off to heal and look after themselves again.
Yet less and less of them were coming back now. They were a dying species, and each were very well aware of that.
Kryl stood in Vesemir's favourite room now, the one with all their supplies — potions, weapons, coin, food. The Witcher potions were of no use to Kryl, but she took some of everything else.
Next stop was her room, grabbing a long blue dress from her drawer that she never actually wore. Going out into the world, she was easily set apart from everyone else if she wore trousers and a top — so she tightened her little brown corset that sat on top of the flowing cloth and grimaced.
The one thing she actually liked about dresses and cloaks was that she could easily hide weapons underneath them. Things like daggers and knives practically vanished.
She walked out into the main hall, staring at the door and checking boxes in her head that she had everything.
She sighed loudly, running her hand through her hair — this was reasonable right? She wouldn't get told off too much when she returned. If she returned.
"Oh well," she said finally, taking the last few steps towards the door and pulling it open, letting the cold wind blow in as she stepped out into the courtyard, "Vesemir'll have to deal with it."
With that, she made her way towards her horse, who knew exactly what her outfit meant — adventure, rule-breaking, possible chance of death.
"Calm down, Wyver," she chuckled as his physical excitement made it harder for her to put his saddle on.
He was quick to race out of the main gate, leaving the Keep far behind them. He raced no one but himself down the mountain, thrilled to be out of the Keep grounds again.
Kryl kept checking behind them, glancing back at the Keep, that grew smaller by the second, as if Vesemir would come out any second and drag her back inside by the scruff of her neck, despite the fact that he was miles away.
When she deemed them far enough away, she forced Wyver to a walk. She patted his neck as she looked up at the sky, there, right above them, flew a murder of crows. Had she not been the one who'd called them, she'd have thought they were eyeing her up as their dinner — but alas, they answered to her.
"Find her," Kryl said to them, yet they didn't leave the sky above her.
"Name?" One demanded, swooping down near her head. He hadn't actually spoken, she could only hear them in her head.
Name. Name. Name.
What was her fucking name?
Kryl closed her eyes tightly, letting Wyver take the lead. She pictured the girl, trying to activate a vision by herself, trying to get into the girls mind.
She had it. Only the first name, only that. But it was something.
Her eyes shot open once again, she stared in front of her blankly, not focusing at all.
"Cirilla."