Castoff: The Past, Present, and Future (ch. 12) (Patreon)

"I don't suppose you'll tell me who you are?" Ciri questioned, looking at the raven haired woman, who seemed absolutely delighted at the sudden change of scenery. The fancy villa was gone, replaced with a rooftop in the heart of Novigrad, not far off from where Triss was staying. Which was not exactly ideal, because spirits like those that once clung to Guts now swirled around her. Already, Ciri heard the sounds of panicked screaming coming from below as the spirits emerged, wreaking havoc. Perhaps it wasn't the best place to take her, but Triss had practically vanished in the confusion and her Brand needed to be taken care of.

"Dewahh! Fashsha!" The woman babbled incoherently, throwing her hands out wide to the sky with a wide joyful smile. Well, at least one of them was happy with how this turned out.

"Guts called you… Casca?" Ciri ventured, having heard him whisper the name. In response, Casca looked at her.

"Wahh?" Casca answered, so that was probably her name. Probably. This was… what was wrong with her? A curse? Was it some side effects of the Brand? Casca was a woman in body, but how she acted… Ciri would compare her to a five year old, but a five year old knew how to communicate. Her musings were cut short when an alarm bell started to ring, the sound echoing across Novigrad but t almost drowned out by the panic. Right. She could get her answers from Guts, because she wouldn't be getting any from Casca from the looks of it.

"Let's get going, Casca. Can you follow me? Hold my hand?" Ciri tried, and Casca obediently took her hand. Ciri wished that she was wearing her own clothing as they approached the edge of the building they stood on. Dresses didn't make mobility easy. After watching a man run away from a spectral skull, she made a split second decision and pulled up on the power that lay within her blood. Space rippled, scrunching up like a piece of cloth, and with a single step, they were within the alley instead of overlooking it from three floors up.

"Weah!" Casca cheered, excited for the use of her power. Ciri flashed her a small smile as she ripped her skirt, finally allowing for some mobility. If at the cost of revealing an immodest amount of thigh.

"Feels good to use it freely," Ciri admitted, taking Casca's hand and leading her down the alley. Ever since she learned about what she could do, she lived in a perpetual state of fear because of those that would hunt her for it. Namely, the Wild Hunt. She never dared to use her power so freely before, using it only in flashes and usually to hide. However, after seeing Guts absolutely thrash the Hunt to the point they outright ran away? That suddenly made them seem far less daunting than they had been. She wasn't foolish enough to think that they were weak. Just that so long as she was with Guts, she could afford to use her power.

Reaching the end of the alley, Ciri peeked out into the street to see that it was nothing less than pure chaos. People ran out into the streets, fleeing the spirits that chased them. The shadows writhed, churning and twisting into shapes that almost seemed human. All the while, they whispered hatred for the living. Mothers picked up their children and fled the buildings they were in, only to find more on the dirt roads. Men and women alike tried to swat away the spirits, lighting torches and waving them about as they screamed in defiance and fear. Some swung with such abandon that they hit each other, or trampled each other underfoot.

Already, Ciri could see the flickering of flames as a building started to catch fire. It was pure chaos. Her heart clenched, knowing that this was her fault for the most part. But she didn't have much of a choice -- she needed to stay near Triss and Guts. Going too far away was a danger to everyone, especially if the Wild Hunt did decide to pounce on the opportunity. Instead, she focused on the fact that the chaos was a perfect cover for them as she urged Casca forward, dragging her to behind her towards Triss's home.

Teleporting straight to Triss's home was far too dangerous. It would leave a trail right to her. And after tonight, there were undoubtedly going to be people looking for a trail to follow. Gripping Casca's hand tightly, she marched forward, keeping check of everything around her. True to form, the chaos was spreading well outside of the effective range of Casca's Brand. People fed off of the hysteria, claiming to see demons in the shadows before they were there, or they simply panicked because they saw other people panicking.

All of Novigrad would be in the throes of absolute panic until the morning sun came, even without the spirits. Ciri couldn't imagine that learning Radovid was dead would help matters much. Spotting the building, Ciri crossed the street and banged a hand on the door. The door opened for her, but not to be welcomed. Instead, the kind butler man roughly shoved her away, nearly toppling her, as he fled whatever he had seen inside. The lobby was in a terrible state, but it mattered little. Heading up the stairs, she pushed the door open and was greeted with the sound of static.

Triss stood in a circle, lightning crackling around her hands, her face completely bloodless. It took a few seconds for Triss to realize that it was them. "Ciri?! Thats- what is happening?!" She exclaimed, her eyes darting between her and Casca, who in a complete lack of fear, walked toward  Triss and touched the glowing sigil beneath her, and pouted that there wasn't any glowing residue on her finger.

"It's the Brand! We need to suppress it! Like you did with Guts! It won't stop until morning if we don't," Ciri said, grabbing the ingredients and pooling them together. However, Triss would need to mix some of the ingredients together -- they needed magic to get the correct effects. Triss lingered within the circle, reluctant to leave it, but she found her courage.

"Radovid is dead," Triss muttered to herself as she mixed the ingredients together, flinching at every spirit that came too close. "That changes everything, Ciri. Nilfgaard has won. The Northern Kingdoms are going to fall. Kovir can't hope to stand against Nilfgaard alone, even if I bring every single mage under the sun to them. It might take a hundred years, but… Nilfgaard has won. Because of your friend." There was a bitter edge in her voice and Ciri couldn't deny the accusation.

Radovid was all that was holding the Northern Kingdoms together. With his death, with Oxenfurt under siege… the rest of the war was but a formality. Ciri didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Nilfgaard was bad, but at the very least, they didn't butcher innocent mages and non-humans for the sake of killing them. Or spout pro-human propaganda as they were about to burn people alive. All the same, Ciri couldn't deny that Guts had dashed Triss's plans upon the rocks.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Ciri apologized for him because she knew that Guts sure wouldn't do it.

"Why?" Triss stressed, glancing over her shoulder at Casca, who was licking the floor where it glowed. "What is she to him for him to kill a king over her? He just walked right up to him and swung, Ciri."

"Someone important," Ciri replied, not knowing any more than that. Guts… Ciri knew how to handle Guts. Honestly, he was like a more growly Geralt. Geralt was plenty growly, but he usually voiced his annoyance with dry sarcasm. Guts voiced it with glares and growls. But, in that moment -- when Casca placed her hand upon his face and Guts cupped it…

Fragile. The very idea that that word could have applied to Guts -- who beat a fully armored knight to death with another fully armored knight, before throwing him like a child might skip a rock… Guts had seemed so fragile in that moment. Like he was a piece of glass that already had a dangerous crack in it and the slightest touch might shatter him. It was like looking at a completely different person. "And I need to go find him. Preferably before he kills another king."

"He's not with you? Where did he go?" Triss questioned, sounding like she was genuinely worried that he might do exactly that.

"He said he was going to kill all the Witch Hunters… so, I'm betting that he is at their headquarters," Ciri told her, making Triss close her eyes for a second. She could practically see the headache that she was giving Triss.

"Maybe wait until he's done, then," Triss remarked and they shared a small smile before Ciri stepped back. Glancing at Casca, Ciri found her flipping through a book, looking at the pictures. As if sending her gaze, Casca looked up.

"Byweh," Casca offered a small wave that Ciri returned. She had no idea who Casca was to Guts but one thing was clear -- she mattered to him more than life itself.

Calling upon the power in her blood, Ciri teleported to the Witch Hunter headquarters, landing lightly on a rampart to the walls surrounding it. She felt heat on her face and stared in shock when she realized that it was already burning. Guts… Guts sure worked fast. She had to give him that. In the courtyard were bodies, all of them Witch Hunters and in a minimum of two pieces. Blood ran in rivers over the cobblestone, reaching the dirt road and turning it into mud. Swallowing thickly, Ciri teleported again to a house across the street, looking for a vantage. What she saw was a trail of death.

Guts had been deadly serious about killing all of the Witch Hunters. The spirits drew all of them to this area and that made it easy for Guts to find them. However, what made it easy for Ciri to find Guts was a torso. One that was launched up, cleaved through the ribcage, and sent flying over a three story building before plopping onto the roof. Ciri teleported again, landing on the ledge and her stomach clenched at the sight.

The Witch Hunter's gathered towards Guts. He was the one killing them, after all. Word spread quickly and in the streets were nothing but Witch Hunters. There were dozens of them. All of them pressing forward to overwhelm Guts with sheer weight of numbers, probably because the ones at the back couldn't see what Guts was doing to them. They were just pushing meat into the grinder.

Ciri never had any doubts about Guts' prowess. He always seemed monstrously strong. But, perhaps out of pride, there had been a small part of her that thought she could beat him. Maybe not in a straight fight, but she could win. That thought died a dog's death as she watched Guts cleave through six men, his titan of a sword tearing through them in a spray of blood with such force that their body parts slammed into other Witch Hunters or battered at the walls of buildings. Blood rained down upon the Witch Hunters in fat drops in such volume that Ciri saw some looking up at the sky.

It was an incredible display of raw power, but it wasn't what left her stupefied, her jaw slack with awe. No sooner than the swing was finished, Guts swung again, cleaving through another six with the back swing. Another swing killed seven. Terrifying, but still not why she couldn't tear her eyes away. What made Guts so dangerous wasn't his raw power, Ciri realized. It was his speed.

Because all three swings took the time it would take her to swing her sword once. More than a dozen men, dead in the span of a breath. Ciri blinked and in that time another five men were dead, cut in half by his giant slab of metal. There was no restraint to be found in Guts -- he fought nothing like he did before. His expression was one of fury and he slaughtered his way through the Witch Hunters, leaving blood soaked mud and dismembered corpses in his wake. Blood splashed out in arcs, painting the buildings as if an artist had taken a brush to them, marking them with strokes of red.

It was horrifying. Ciri felt her stomach clench at the extreme violence but was unable to look away. It was inhuman. If she wasn't watching it happen, then she'd claim that it was impossible. She couldn't even think to help, frozen where she stood as she watched Guts just… butcher the Witch Hunters, carving through them like a knife through cake.

"Mwahahahah! MWAHAHAHAHA!" Ciri heard a familiar laugh echo out, a spec of light darted between the buildings. "It is I, Evil Puck, and it is me who has summoned the spirits for my nefarious and diabolical plot! None can stop me! MWAHAHAHAHA!" Puck shouted at the top of his lungs, and as he rounded the corner, Ciri saw that he had dozens more Witch Hunters on his tail. Her body tensed, ready to jump into the fray, but Puck continued. "Oh No! It is my arch enemy -- Guts! Witch Hunters! Kill that man for it is I, Evil Puck, who you answer to!" He exclaimed, dramatically pointing at Guts.

His acting skills would drive a real actor to tears. But he didn't need to be a good actor. The Witch Hunters that followed him pressed forward, giving chase. Those at the front might have been puzzled at why there was already a crowd of Witch Hunters, but those from the back pressed them forward. If there was any communication happening, then it didn't get a chance to produce results. Guts tore through them like they weren't even there. And even if the Witch Hunters did understand what they were being led into, they found themselves far more concerned with Guts.

The bad acting wasn't for the Witch Hunters. It was for everyone else that was listening.

"My long awaited scheme has come to fruition! First, I arrived in Oxenfurt for nefarious purposes and I was just barely thwarted by you, Guts! And that meddlesome girl!" He was monologuing. Ciri found her face in her hands, shame burning through her as Puck shamelessly lied. "You might have even killed that King guy! Who was but a pawn for none other than I! He obeyed me in everything! He was but my puppet! So, it's really bad for me and really good for the kingdoms that you killed that guy!" Every word was causing her physical pain. There was no way that this was going to work.

"And just as the King was my puppet, the Witch Hunters were his! So, they obey me! I had them kill inhumans because… uh… inhumans are really good at interfering with my nefarious plots. So killing them -- especially with fire -- is actually helping me! The guy that is plaguing your city with evil spirits and is plotting world domination so I can rule over the world with a mighty iron fist and reign of terror! That you won't enjoy! I'll up everyone's taxes! I'll include a hundred percent sales tax on everything! There won't be any drinking allowed! Or card games. Or dice! Or anything that you humans enjoy! So, remember -- killing inhumans directly helps me and my reign of terror."

Make it stop. Someone. Someone make it stop. Puck's heart was in the right place but…

When Ciri unclenched her eyes and unburied her face, the last of the Witch hunters were fleeing for their lives. Guts buried his blade into a thick mud before slapping the crossbow into his prosthetic, grabbing the cranky and with each turn of it an arrow shot out and punched through the fleeing Witch Hunters. Not a single one of them escaped, leaving the streets strewn with corpses; it was like a scene right out of hell. Ciri saw Guts glanced at Puck, who was feigning terror.

"Oh no! All of my once removed pawns have been defeated!" Despite the innocent words, Ciri's blood turned to ice.

Did… did Guts… really kill all of the Witch Hunters in Novigrad? In the span of an hour? How many did they number? How many did he kill? She couldn't even tell, Ciri realized. They were in too many pieces.

"Very well! Then I have no other choice but to engage you in one on one combat! En guard!" Puck shouted, glowing brightly, practically illuminating the street to reveal the extent of the butchery. "RAHHHHH-oof!" Puck screamed a warcry, wielding his burdock like a lance before lunging directly at Guts. Whose expression of fury became one of supreme annoyance and reluctant acceptance, before he reached out a hand and flicked Puck away when he neared. Puck dramatically fell into the blood soaked mud, using his burdock to help him rise to his feet. "Not yet! I'm not… done… yet..!"

Another dramatic charge was met with the same result. "Oof!" Puck exclaimed, slamming back into the mud with a small splash. "I… have been defeated! Ugh! Ahhh! I am dying! I… can see… my entire life flashing before my eyes! Ugh! Uuuuuggghhhh! I'm dying! I'm really dying! It hurts! Everything feels so cold! I'm…. Ugh… uggghhhhh-" Puck continued to make dying sounds, managing to have the single most dramatic death in history while also sounding like a drowning cat. Then, in an act of almost divine timing…

The spirits began to fade away. Triss had applied the seal onto Casca.

"Bleugh!" Puck dramatically died, his hands out wide, sticking out his tongue, and he held his breath. Guts looked down at Puck, who Ciri then saw crack open an eye because he could probably feel Guts' desire to step on him. However, in an act of incredible restraint, Guts just sighed and picked Puck up before depositing his 'corpse' into Puck's napping pouch.

The entire scene was stupid. So stupid that Ciri wasn't even sure what she just witnessed other than the fact she had emotional whiplash. And… maybe… just so stupid that it actually worked.

"He… he killed him! He killed the monster! He saved the city! He saved Novigrad!" Ciri heard a man shout out, pure relief in his tone. His cry of relief was joined by others who witnessed the slaughter. And Ciri was just shaking her head. She didn't agree with the idea that all peasants were stupid and easily fooled.

But sometimes… sometimes she really wondered.

…

"It'll trick the common folk, but even if you did 'kill' Puck, the nobility are going to want your head. You killed a king, Guts," Ciri admonished him as they made their way back to Triss'. "You've doomed the Northern Kingdoms."

"I don't care," Guts dismissed, his voice flat. Coming from anyone else, she might think that was just bluster. Now? Now she saw that Guts genuinely didn't care. He completely changed the course of history, the fate of the world… and he didn't care. Because, to him, Radovid had just been another man in his way. And as much as she would like to think that little display would be enough to prevent any consequences, Ciri knew better.

Like it or not, Guts just became the most wanted man in the north. His only real hope to escape was for her to take him back to his Sphere. Or going to her father because he'd probably give Guts a medal for winning his war for him. Shaking her head of the thoughts, she pushed the door open to see Triss, who had her arms angrily crossed over her chest. She glowered at Guts as he entered, but if he noticed, he didn’t pay it any mind.

His gaze scanned for Casca, his jaw clenching when he didn’t see her. Triss saw it and decided to speak up, “She’s asleep. I gave her a tonic -- she was trying to taste my ingredients and most of them would have killed her,” Triss informed and a tension eased out of Guts. Ciri could see it -- like he had been holding a breath for as long as she had known him and finally let it go.

“Her Brand is suppressed?” He asked, earning a curt nod from Triss. “Thank you,” he said, and Triss seemed as put off as Ciri felt when he thanked her. “Can… I see her?” He questioned and Ciri couldn’t help but marvel at the hesitation in his tone. It was almost like he was a completely different person. Well, maybe not completely different. But the Guts she was used to dealing with was undeniably different than the one she saw when Casca was involved.

Triss offered a small nod, “You can. She’s resting in the guest lounge,” she said with a sigh, gesturing to the door. The anger bled out of Triss as Guts walked to the door, opening it with a small pause. He hadn’t escaped a chewing out by Triss, but Triss saw it as much as Ciri did. It wasn’t the time to get angry over what had been done. Past Guts, Ciri saw a lavish room with Casca laying underneath a heavy duvet pulled up to her chin.

Puck chose to poke his head out of the pouch as Ciri closed the door. Guts hovered over Casca for a long few seconds, just staring at her like he thought she wasn’t real. Then with a heaving sigh, he rested his blade against the wall and sat heavily in a chair next to her bed. Poor Triss -- she’d likely have to throw the chair out with the amount of blood that was smeared into it.

Ciri leaned against a wall, her gaze lingering on Casca for a moment before she chose to break the silence. “I don’t want to pry, Guts. Your history is your history, but… who is she?” Ciri decided to ask and Guts didn’t look at her, nor at Puck when he floated out of the pouch to plop into the bed next to Casca, apparently worn out by his antics.

Guts absentmindedly rubbed his prosthetic arm for a moment, pausing a long time before he answered. “She’s from my Sphere,” he told her, making Ciri go still. That- “I don’t think you’re the reason why we’re here. I can’t claim to know how magic works, but Casca and I were half a continent apart. I don’t know what brought us here, but I don’t think it was you.” He answered her unspoken question, his voice heavy and melancholic.

Okay. He wasn’t backing out of that promise for answers. “And has she always…?” Ciri trailed off, not sure how to phrase it. But Guts understood what she meant.

She saw his expression darken, closing his eyes for a few seconds as if he had to muster the will to answer the question. “No. She… she used to be different,” he told her before Ciri heard the bitterest chuckle escape him. It was a haunting sound. “You and Casca would have gotten along. Maybe too well. She was a warrior -- used to drive her up the wall whenever someone made a comment about her fighting. She usually shoved those words down their throats with some of their teeth for good measure. She was a leader too. A damn good one.”

Was.

“Was she cursed?” Ciri questioned, looking at the sleeping woman. As much as she wanted to see it, Ciri couldn’t. Casca was more like a child than not, only able to babble incoherently -- there wasn’t any sign of a warrior or a leader. “Because I can help-” Ciri started, only for Guts to shake his head.

“No. It’s not a curse. It’s… something else,” Guts finished lamely and she could see him swallow his words.

He really was stubborn. “Guts, I want to help. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but I can’t help you or her unless you tell me something,” she told him, her lips thinning and she saw his guard rise. He worked his jaw, his one hand clenching into a fist as he seemed to stare through Casca… only to sigh a moment later.

“You’re right. You’ve… you deserve to know,” Guts admitted. “Casca and I were part of a mercenary group called the Band of the Hawk. I came in later than Casca. She was already second in command by the time I joined up. She hated me something fierce back then. Couldn’t stand the sight of me. Calling me a rabid dog was probably the most polite thing she ever said about me,” Guts told her, a sad edge in his voice. But, more than anything else, there was exhaustion in his voice. Guts sounded tired. More tired than he did after a week of no sleep. “I only joined up because I lost a duel. She was probably right about me back then. Didn’t want to join, hated everyone, but I was too stubborn to leave. And pissing her off was pretty fun.”

“We were led by a… man named Griffith. He-...” Guts worked his jaw, his expression tightening. “He founded the Band of the Hawk during the hundred year war. He was the one that beat me. I absolutely hated him at first, but Griffith… there was just something about him that made him impossible to hate. I used to look down on everyone in the Band of the Hawk for worshiping the ground that he walked on, but I ended up not being any different. Griffith was charismatic. I’m sure there’s some better word to describe him, but that's the only one I know. Griffith made you feel invincible. He would talk and you would want to listen. He would want something… and you would want him to have it,” Guts uttered the words in a grave tone, his head starting to hang low.

A hundred year war? She couldn’t even imagine that. And this Griffith sounded like a character alright, because she couldn’t see Guts thinking that highly of anyone. However, based on how he spoke of him… there may be a reason for that.

“We fought together for years. I don’t really know how many. Griffith had a plan, though. He was ambitious. He wanted a kingdom -- seducing the princess, assassinating rivals, and so on. Blue blood stuff. I helped him with it as much as I could. Because he was my friend. My best friend. As far as I was concerned, the sun rose and set on his shoulders. We fought in the war for some king -- I don’t even know his name. Never bothered to learn it. We got knighted by him, though. That was when I decided to leave. I wanted to better myself. I wanted to stand before Griffith as his equal.”

This story… it was a terrifying thing that she asked about Casca and he began to tell her of Griffith.

“He was upset. More than I expected him to be. Tried to kill me to stop me from leaving. He didn’t manage it, and he ended up getting caught fucking the princess,” Guts told her, his voice growing heavier with every word he uttered. With his real hand, he massaged his eyes and sank deeper into the chair. “That’s what tipped everything over. The king was pissed that his daughter was despoiled so he captured Griffith and branded the Band of the Hawk traitors. Casca managed to save some of them, broke out of a trap that was laid for them… and after that, the Band of the Hawk spent the next year plotting to break Griffith out of prison. Because as much as I admired Griffith, Casca loved him.”

Ciri stiffened -- something that Guts didn’t fail to notice. “I don’t know what Casca and I are. We’ve been together… but one of the very last things she told me was that I should leave the Band of the Hawk after we rescued Griffith. Because during that year, Griffith had been tortured. A lot. He was more scars than skin, bone thin, his limbs were useless and his tongue was cut out.” That was… excessive. “We got him out. Broke into the dungeon, made our escape… and that’s… when it happened.”

Guts leaned forward, almost as if he were curling into himself, resting his head in a palm as a cold sweat started to build upon his skin. Looking at him in that moment, Ciri regretted it. She regretted asking. “Griffith used to have a lucky charm. It’s called a behelit… ugly little thing. Shaped like an egg with a face on it, but it was distorted. It was alive too” Guts said, his expression growing darker. “After we rescued him, Griffith… I think he tried to kill himself. Stole a wagon, crashed it, and tried to impale his throat on a piece of wood but didn’t have the strength to do even that. But what he found was his lucky charm.”

“What is it?” Ciri questioned, speaking for the first time, but Guts shook his head.

“I don’t really know. I just know that they act as a summons of sorts. For… the Godhand,” Guts spoke their name like a curse, the cold sweat growing worse. The hate in his voice was indescribable. “Devils masquerading as angels. They offer power to humans in exchange for their souls and humanity, turning them into apostles.”

She swallowed, “And that’s what they did with Griffith?” She ventured, trying to spare him from having to say it.

Instead, Guts laughed. It was a truly, deeply, wretched sound. “No. It was much worse than that. They welcomed him among them, and the price was us. The Brand, Ciri? It’s a mark of sacrifice. We were the toll for his ascension. The world… it changed. It vanished. Or we were taken there- I don’t know. The Eclipse… it was a world filled with apostles and they feasted upon us. Our souls laying the foundation for Griffith’s power, damning every one of us to an eternity in hell, of mindless maddening suffering… It… I…” Guts trailed off, taking in deep and even breaths.

That sounded like nothing she had ever heard before. She tried to frame it with what she knew - Dijinn, or other creatures that offered power for something. But nothing came close. Guts wasn’t painting the full picture, leaving large details out, but he didn’t need to say everything. Ciri could see it -- the cold sweat, sitting like he had an incredible burden on his shoulders… Guts was scared. Haunted. And that conveyed what happened during this Eclipse better than words could ever hope to.

“Casca and I were the only ones to make it out. Everyone else was butchered and betrayed. I… I lost my arm there. And an eye. Casca… she went insane from the horrors there. Her mind just… broke. And sometimes I think I went insane too,” Guts admitted, the words slipping past his lips almost of their own will because he grimaced as soon as he uttered them. “I left her with some friends -- the man who forged Dragonslayer and the only other member of the Band of the Hawk that was still alive because they weren’t there. After that, I traveled the world, hunting apostles. Trying to get back to Griffith. To kill him for what he did to us.” He growled the words out, a snarl in his voice.

The hate was so potent that in her sleep, Casca heard it and mumbled something. That seemed to snap Guts out of it. His expression softened and more than anything else, he just seemed tired. “I don’t know if anything can be done, Ciri. Before we came here, I was missing an eye. My hearing was gone in one of my ears. I had a lot more scars and injuries. But, all of them were at an apostle's hands. Casca’s madness… it was caused because of Griffith, but it hasn’t been healed. Not like my injuries were. I don’t think there is anything that can be done.”

She shouldn’t. Hope was a dangerous thing, and nothing was deadlier than false hope. Ciri knew the dangers and the risks and if either Geralt or Yennefer were here, they’d smack the idea right out of her head.

All the same, Ciri spoke. Because what Guts needed right now, more than anything… was hope.

“That might not be entirely true. Have you ever heard of a Djinn?”