Dawn's pale light crept through Kaer Morhen's arrow-slit windows as Geralt slipped into the alchemical workshop before any of the fortress's inhabitants stirred. The racks of herbs and the rows of glass vials stood silent, waiting.
He had promised his mother—and himself—to guard the secret of the newly acquired serum formulas. No one must know how he came into their possession. Visenna believed the recipes had been passed down through hidden magical archives; Geralt knew better. Yet he would honor her faith.
The previous evening, Vesemir and Berengar had set out at twilight to gather the rare components under the guise of routine provisioning.
Vesemir returned from the riverbank with bundles of fresh nettle and wild thyme—ordinary herbs used in half a dozen restorative mixtures.
Berengar trudged in from the swampy lowlands carrying sacks of drowner tendon fiber and nekker scales, claiming them as raw materials for a gargoyle repellent potion he had been developing.
No one questioned their haul. Both veteran witchers were famed for their experimentation with monster-derived ingredients. Their companions saw only two hunters returning from nightly patrols laden with supplies for the fortress's stores.
When the tower lay hushed, Geralt slipped in. He lit a single candle and retrieved the hidden scrolls bearing the Body Fortification Formula and the Psychic Clarity Formula—recipes that must not see the light of day.
He set aside supplies for other brews:
Nettle and thyme for standard healing potions
Drowner fiber and nekker scales for experimental elixirs
Drawing a deep breath, he prepared a small batch of Body Fortification. The steps mirrored those of common recipes—infusing nettle and thyme, simmering tendon fiber, dusting in scales—but at precise ratios unique to his secret formula. As the cauldron hissed, he mused on the smoky aroma: familiar, yet tinged with hope.
Once the infusion cooled, he filtered it through fine linen and drew off a vial marked simply "Test I." Uncorking it, he drank the serum, feeling the warmth spread through his muscles. He checked his internal Status:
Strength: 7 → 9
Max MP: 100
Satisfied, he sealed the vial and stowed it among Visenna's approved stock of healing potions, its amber glow hidden behind inconspicuous labels.
Over the next quarter-year, Geralt's routine unfolded in secrecy:
He practiced swordmanship under Vesemir's watchful eye.
When Berengar brewed defensive elixirs for the fortress, Geralt "assisted," handling scaled residues and fiber fragments that he would later repurpose for his secret serums.
At dusk, Berengar accompanied Vesemir on hunts. Under the pretext of gathering monster parts for research, he collected precisely measured portions of tendon and scales.
Berengar gave him a discreet nod when a bundle of drowner remains was enough for both the fortress's routine needs and Geralt's private caches.
After all others slept, Geralt returned to the workshop. He mixed his secret formulas alongside approved recipes, ensuring no one noticed the extra ingredients vanishing into his private vials.
Each brew underwent a brief stability test—small doses to confirm potency without overt display of unusual strength or arcane flare.
He carefully labeled his test batches as minor variations of Berengar's gargoyle repellent or Vesemir's muscle salve.
He never spoke of the formulas in public and never let anyone see the scrolls.
Culmination: The First True Serums
As the third month closed, Geralt prepared two final secret batches:
Body Fortification Serum I—brewed from the refined formula, yielding six doses
Psychic Clarity Serum I—brewed similarly, yielding six doses
He stowed them beneath a false panel behind the herb racks. That night, he drank one Fortification dose in the courtyard's shadow and one Clarity dose beneath the moon:
Strength: 9 → 11
Max MP: 110 → 120
His new reserves flowed through him like living fire. No one noticed—Vesemir remarked only that Geralt's form had grown even sharper, and Berengar commented that the youth possessed uncanny focus during training.
Through these covert operations, Geralt's friendships deepened without revealing his secret. Eskel admired his unwavering discipline; Jacob respected the precision with which he handled ingredients; Vicky marveled at his growing physical grace; Dick noted his calm mastery of Signs. Each believed Geralt's progress stemmed from rigorous training and maternal teaching, not suspect alchemy.
Hidden behind routine tasks lay the truth: Geralt had rewritten his course by brewing forbidden serums. With each clandestine batch, he affirmed that destiny belonged to those bold enough to shape it in secret. And in the stillness of Kaer Morhen's ancient halls, he prepared for the trials ahead—armed with strength, clarity, and the unwavering knowledge that some paths, once chosen, could never be undone.
Geralt found Eskel and Jacob sparring in the courtyard at dawn, swordsteel ringing against wooden shields. The morning air bit cold, but both witchers-in-training moved with practiced ease. Nearby, Vicky and Dick practiced Signs—Igni embers dancing at Vicky's fingertips, Aard gusts from Dick's palm clearing fallen leaves.
Geralt approached calmly, a leather pouch hidden beneath his cloak. He smiled at Eskel's clean parry and Jacob's riposte. "Mind if I join?" he asked. Both nodded without breaking rhythm. Geralt drew his sword, matching Eskel stroke for stroke. His enhanced Strength—hidden gift of his secret serum—lent surprising power to each strike.
After the drill, Vesemir's horn signaled a break. The five gathered near the low stone wall, wiping sweat from fur-lined gloves. Geralt reached into his pouch and produced two small vials of amber liquid. He clutched one for Jacob and one for Vicky. "Here," he said softly. "A tonic to sharpen jaw and mind." Their brows lifted in curiosity, but he handed each a vial without explanation.
Jacob cracked the seal and drank deeply, the liquid warm as it slid down his throat. Vicky followed, his eyes closing briefly. Dick and Eskel watched, intrigued. Geralt stood a respectful distance away, arms crossed, offering only a steady gaze.
Within moments, subtle changes rippled through Jacob and Vicky. Jacob flexed his arms, testing newfound steadiness and speed. His normally cadenced footwork transformed—each step more confident, each feint sharper. Vicky stretched his fingers and chanted a low-worded exercise. His Sign control improved; flames from a test Igni curled higher and steadier.
"Feel lighter?" Geralt asked Jacob. The tall trainee grinned. "Like I'm dancing." Vicky nodded, his bright eyes probing the courtyard's edges. "Everything's clearer."
Dick and Eskel exchanged glances, impressed but puzzled. "What was in that?" Eskel asked. Geralt shrugged. "Just a blend I picked up." He offered a second round for those who dared. Jacob and Vicky pocketed the remaining vials; Dick snatched one with eager hands. Even Eskel, always cautious, accepted the final vial.
Over the next hour, each trainee moved through training and simple chores with renewed vigor. Jacob's parry grew perfectly timed; Vicky's signs followed her intent without hesitation; Dick handled heavy barrels of supplies as though they weighed half their bulk. Eskel's cautious application of Aard cleared obstacles with precision rather than brute force.
Throughout, Geralt watched their progress with quiet satisfaction. He shared no details—only the vials themselves and an encouraging nod. He knew the tonic had heightened their physical and mental attributes just as his own serums had done for him. Their increased Strength and clarity would give each of them a small edge in future trials at Kaer Morhen.
As the sun climbed higher over the mountain peaks, Geralt called them together once more. "Rest now," he said. "Tomorrow brings new challenges." They dispersed—Jacob and Vicky eager to test their abilities further, Dick whistling as he stacked gear, Eskel thoughtful, his posture straighter.
Geralt watched them go, a secret smile beneath his stern facade. In sharing the untraceable tonic, he had not only deepened their trust in him but also bolstered their chances of surviving the witcher trials. Their destinies—already entwined by friendship—had grown stronger.
As the snows began to fall, the onset of Yule brought a whirlwind of preparation at Kaer Morhen. Firewood was stacked high against the fortress walls, its smoky scent mingling with the sharp pine of the mountain air. Visenna oversaw stores of dried meat and root vegetables, ensuring that each crate bore the precise alchemical labels needed for her winter brews.
Geralt rose before dawn, the courtyard still cloaked in ice. After checking his hidden vials, he joined Vesemir and Eskel on patrol, their breath misting in the pale light. Drowner patrols grew bolder near the frozen river, but Geralt's sharpened senses—honed by his clandestine serums—put the creatures easily to flight.
By midday, the trainees converged in the great hall for lessons. Visenna taught the theory behind crystal-infused lanterns that burned bright even in blizzards, while Geralt and Jacob practiced swirling Igni to melt thick drifts. Vicky and Dick studied runic warding circles to seal the tower's doors against wind spirits.
Afternoons were reserved for combat drills amidst snow-dusted targets. Eskel taught Geralt the precision footwork needed to avoid slippery footing, while Vesemir demonstrated throwing knives that cut through gusts. Laughter rang out as they sparred, snowflakes dancing with each clash of steel.
Evenings found them crowded around long tables. Bowls of steaming stew fueled study sessions on monster anatomy and alchemical reactions. Geralt quizzed Jacob on potion ratios; Vicky recited herb properties while Dick sketched field expedient traps in the frost-lined corners of petition.
Through Yule's long nights and cold days, study and training wove together with winter's preparations. In the heart of Kaer Morhen, under mother's tutelage and friends' fellowship, Geralt and his companions grew stronger—body, mind, and bond—ready for whatever trials the season would bring.