KAER MORHEN - A WEEK LATER
The boy awoke to the sound of wind whispering through the cracks of Kaer Morhen's old stone walls. The air was cold, sharp mountain air.
His eyes fluttered open. For a moment, there was only silence and the steady crackle of firelight from the hearth. Then came awareness. His breathing quickened. He pushed himself up from the cot, heart hammering as his eyes darted across the room.
The ceiling was low, the beams old and scarred. The smell of herbs and oil were all over the place. Furs were piled on his chest, heavy and warm.
He tore them off.
His hands… they looked normal. No burns. No scars. No melted flesh. The memory of fire and pain that never came flashed in his mind. He touched his face, his neck, his chest. Whole. Perfectly whole.
He pressed a trembling hand to his head and muttered, "Was that… all a dream?"
Then his brow furrowed, and a slow chill crept down his spine. "No… I remember. I remember everything now. My life before… and my life here in this world." His voice cracked slightly. "Everything I went through…"
He stood, bare feet meeting the chill of the stone floor. The world around him pulsed with clarity. He could hear things, distant footsteps in the courtyard below, a crow cawing from the battlements, the steady heartbeat of someone beyond the door. He could see better too; the flicker of firelight revealed dust motes spinning through the air like tiny comets.
It was too much. His breath hitched. He closed his eyes, steadying himself.
Then, drawn by something primal, he turned toward the mirror propped on the old dresser. What stared back wasn't the same boy he remembered. His eyes once dull brown now gleamed gold, slit like a cat's, glowing faintly.
He whispered to his reflection, "Witcher eyes…" A faint, incredulous smile tugged at his lips. "It seems I went through the Trial of the Grasses."
"Not only you woke up," came a voice behind him, dry and calm, "but you also know what the Trial of the Grasses is."
Sebastian turned sharply. Vesemir stood in the doorway, arms folded, that old half-smile hidden beneath his beard. His eyes, sharp and wise, studied the boy like a puzzle.
Vesemir stepped closer, boots creaking against the wood. "What are they teaching the children these days in Nilfgaard, eh?"
Sebastian blinked, unsure whether it was a jest or suspicion. "You saved my life."
Vesemir let out a small grunt. "Hard to tell yet." He moved past the boy, pulling a chair beside the bed and easing himself down with the weight of years. "Tell me, boy… what's your name?"
Sebastian hesitated. His mind flickered with memory, a different name, a different home, voices long gone. Arven Var Winneburg. That name belonged to him as well, but...
He looked Vesemir in the eye. "Sebastian."
The old witcher nodded slowly, tasting the name as though measuring its truth. "Well, Sebastian… since you already seem to know what you are, there's something you'd best understand." His tone hardened slightly. "Folk will see you differently now. You'll be called freak, mutant, cursed. They'll spit, curse your kind, and still come begging for help when the night gets hungry."
Sebastian gave a faint smile. "I know that very well."
That made Vesemir laugh deep and genuine, echoing faintly against the stone walls. "Hah! Sharp-tongued and calm about it. You were clearly raised with some manners. Son of a Nilfgaardian noble, perhaps? Those are the signs that I found when I.."
Sebastian's expression faltered for a moment. "I can't remember that well," he lied softly.
Vesemir's eyes lingered on him a moment longer, then he simply nodded. "That's fine. You'll remember when it matters, or not at all. Either way, you're alive. Which, considering what you went through, is nothing short of a miracle."
He leaned back in the chair, scratching his beard. "The Trial of the Grasses kills most boys. We had to train them for some years, prepare them and still, out of ten, maybe three live. And you…" He gestured at Sebastian with a tilt of his head. "You burned like a damned pyre, and yet here you are. Remarkable. Strange, even, We thought it was magic but our medallions didn't react to it at all."
Sebastian looked down at his hands again, flexing them slowly. Then he lifted his gaze to Vesemir's. "I have one request, Uncle Vesemir."
Vesemir raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching. "A request, already?"
Sebastian nodded, his voice steady. "Teach me swordsmanship."
For a long moment, Vesemir simply stared at him. Then the old man chuckled, a low rumble that carried both warmth and approval. "That's the spirit." He stood, his chair scraping the floor. "What's a witcher worth if he can't swing a blade?"
Sebastian smiled faintly, the golden glow in his eyes catching the firelight.
Vesemir clapped him on the shoulder, firm and fatherly. "Rest today, boy. Tomorrow, we'll see if you can stand after an hour of drills."
He turned toward the door, muttering under his breath with a grin, "Old wolves and new pups… seems Kaer Morhen's halls won't be so quiet this winter."
The chamber was quiet after Vesemir left.
Sebastian sat there for a long while, silent. He flexed his fingers, studied the lines in his palms, the faint shimmer beneath his skin that hadn't been there before. Something was different more than the eyes, more than the hearing or sight.
He felt both dead and alive in a way that frightened him.
The sensation began in his chest a faint thrum, then, it pulsed outward. His breath caught.
And then
[System Notification]
[The Trial of the Grasses has unlocked a sealed power within you.
You have awakened the abilities of the Flame–Flame Fruit.]
The words weren't spoken. They appeared carved in light before his eyes.
Sebastian stumbled back, eyes wide, breath sharp. "What in the..." He froze, clutching at his chest as his heartbeat thundered against his ribs. His hands trembled, but not with fear.. with heat.
When he looked down, his fingertips were glowing faintly, tiny threads of orange light flickering along his skin like veins of fire.
Then, all at once, memory crashed back into him, the goddess… that voice, that day before it all changed.
He sank to his knees, gripping the edge of the bed to steady himself. "So this is what you meant…" His voice was quiet, hoarse. "Goddess… the gift you said you left for me."
His gaze drifted to the fire in the hearth steady, alive. The flames seemed to lean toward him, as though recognizing one of their own. He lifted a hand toward them, hesitant and uncertain.
The fire responded.
It flared brighter, curling and twisting, and then impossibly one of the flames jumped from the wood and hovered before his palm, a small, living ember spinning like a coin caught in sunlight.
Sebastian stared, mesmerized. It didn't burn him. It danced, playful, gentle even, as though testing him.
He clenched his jaw, eyes glinting gold beneath the glow. "It came with a cost, didn't it…" he murmured. His tone wasn't angry just… tired. There was sorrow behind it.
The memory of pain, his parents death and his struggle with the trial surged again, and his voice broke softly. "So that was the price."
The ember flickered in answer, dimming slightly before fading back into the hearth.
Sebastian exhaled, long and unsteady. His hand trembled as he lowered it, staring at the faint orange spark still glowing at his fingertips before it, too, vanished.
He sat in silence once more, the reality of it all sinking in, witcher eyes, golden and cold… and now, a boy made of fire.
/-\
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