The great hall of Kaer Morhen was lit by a handful of torches that cast long, restless shadows across the stone walls. The keep groaned softly around them, old wood and older stone settling as it always did when night crept in from the mountains.
Vesemir sat at the long table with a mug of something strong cradled in his hands. Eskel leaned against a pillar nearby, arms folded, brow furrowed in thought. Lambert paced. He hadn't stopped pacing since they got together.
Eskel broke the silence first, his voice low and careful.
"Vesemir… what happened there was wrong. Not wrong as in a mistake.. wrong as in unnatural." He exhaled through his nose. "I've seen boys die screaming on those tables. I've seen bodies twist, bones snap, minds break. I watched my own group get butchered by the Trial. Even Geralt, his hair turning white, body barely holding together..." He shook his head slowly. "This.. I've never seen anything like what happened to that boy."
Lambert stopped pacing. He turned sharply.
"And that's exactly the problem." His voice was sharp with anger he wasn't bothering to hide. "You gambled on something you didn't understand, old man. Alive or not, this life?" He gestured broadly at the keep, the mountains beyond. "This isn't sunshine and songs. You didn't save him, you dragged him into something worse."
Vesemir took a slow sip before answering. He didn't rush his words.
"I know." He set the mug down. "I spoke with him. His name is Sebastian."
Lambert snorted.
Vesemir ignored that. "Like it or not, he's a witcher now. The mutations took. Fully." His eyes hardened slightly. "What troubles me isn't that he survived. It's how he did it."
Eskel nodded. "He was too young. No preparation, no conditioning. His body was half-dead when we laid him on the table."
"And yet," Vesemir continued, "he endured it as if he'd already lived through something worse." He leaned back, gaze drifting toward the fire. "The way he speaks. The way he stands. There's something about him, not the kind a child should carry."
Lambert scoffed. "So what, we picked up a cursed prodigy? Maybe a demon wearing a boy's skin?"
"No." Vesemir's answer was immediate, firm. "He's human. Completely."
Both witchers looked at him.
"Nilfgaardian," Vesemir went on. "Both parents dead. The man, his father, I assume, was some sort of a count. Diplomat, maybe. I found no papers, but that wasn't a merchant's caravan."
Eskel grimaced. "That complicates things."
"It changes nothing," Lambert muttered. "Mutant's a mutant. Nilfgaard won't want him back, and even if they did.." He made a cutting gesture across his throat. "He'd never be accepted."
Eskel sighed. "True enough. Wherever he goes, he's an outcast now."
Lambert crossed his arms, jaw tight. "And whose fault is that?"
Vesemir met his gaze evenly. "Mine, if you need someone to blame."
Lambert looked away, frustrated.
"The trial," Vesemir continued, voice steady, "was the only chance he had. Witcher potions alone would've killed him outright. His body was already failing. The Trial destroys the body, breaks it down completely.. and rebuilds it. That was the gamble." He paused. "Risky, yes. Cruel, maybe. But it worked."
Lambert's shoulders sagged slightly. "You always have an answer."
"Because I've lived long enough to see the cost of not acting," Vesemir replied quietly.
There was a long pause.
Lambert turned his back to them, staring into the darkness of the hall. "Fine, damn it." he muttered. "You were right. Happy now, old wolf?"
Vesemir didn't answer.
Eskel broke into a small, crooked smile. "So… we've got ourselves an apprentice, then?" He glanced toward the corridor leading to the sleeping quarters. "Are we actually training him?"
Vesemir chuckled, the sound rough but warm. "Training him? He asked for it himself. Asked like it was the most natural thing in the world."
Eskel raised a brow. "Confident."
"Prepared," Vesemir corrected. "As awkward as it may sound, he knows what we are. Either he was educated from birth or there is some secrets about him." His expression softened, just a touch. "But never mind that, all will be revealed with time. What matters is that I haven't seen that kind of resolve in a long time."
Eskel smirked. "Listen to you. Getting sentimental in your old age."
Vesemir snorted. "Perhaps you are right."
Lambert glanced back. "Geralt'll be back soon. Winter's is here."
Eskel's grin widened. "He'll be surprised."
Vesemir looked toward the fire again, eyes reflecting the flames. "Yeah…" he murmured. "he will be."
****
The next morning came quietly to Kaer Morhen.
Sebastian woke earlier than he should, before the wind finished crawling through the broken towers. His eyes opened without effort, senses already sharp. He lay still for a moment, listening, to the crackle of dying embers somewhere below.
He sat up and dressed in what had been left for him: a rough tunic, thick trousers, a belt that hung too low on his hips. Everything smelled faintly of oil and old leather. The sleeves swallowed his hands, the collar rested awkwardly against his neck. He adjusted it anyway and stepped out into the corridor.
The great hall greeted him with firelight and voices.
All three Witchers turned as Sebastian entered.
Vesemir smiled first. "Morning, boy. Sleep well?"
Sebastian nodded. "Better than I expected." His voice was steady and polite.
Eskel glanced him up and down, then snorted. "By the gods, look at you. You look like a sack of potatoes someone tied shut."
Sebastian looked down at himself, then back up. "I thought it was just me."
That earned a brief huff of laughter from Eskel. "Name's Eskel," he said, pushing off the table. "I'll just call you Seb, if you don't mind."
"Seb's fine," Sebastian replied easily.
Vesemir gestured toward the other witcher. "This is Lambert. He's grumpier than he looks."
Lambert scoffed. "That's a lie."
Sebastian inclined his head politely. "Nice to meet you."
Lambert studied him for a second longer than necessary, then nodded once. "So. Sebastian." He paused. "How do you feel?"
Sebastian thought about it honestly before answering. "Sore. Hungry. But… okay. Thank you for asking."
Lambert grunted. "Alright."
Eskel's eyes flicked back to the oversized clothes. "We really need to do something about that. Can't have our new witcher tripping over his own sleeves."
Vesemir nodded. "Aye. We'll fix it. Training comes first, though. No sense learning bad habits because your tunic's trying to strangle you."
Sebastian's eyes lit up at that. "We're training today?"
Vesemir smiled. "We are. Wooden sword. Basics only." He turned to Eskel. "You'll handle it."
Eskel blinked. "Me?"
"You," Vesemir said calmly.
Eskel scratched the back of his head. "I'm not exactly a good teacher."
Vesemir gave him a look.
Eskel sighed. "I mean.. I don't know if I should go easy on him or.."
"You're training a witcher now," Vesemir cut in. "Not a child."
Eskel studied him again, this time more carefully. Then he smiled, slow and sharp. "Alright then, Seb. Guess we'll find out which of us survives the morning."
Sebastian met his gaze, a faint smile touching his lips. "I'll do my best."
Vesemir chuckled. "Eat something first. Then the yard." He paused, watching Sebastian closely. "And boy.."
Sebastian looked at him.
"Welcome to Kaer Morhen, home to the school of the wolf."
/-\
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