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The Highlands stretched far and wild, the wind howling through the craggy peaks like the call of a restless spirit.
The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of pine and distant rain.
Far from the bustling halls of Hogwarts, Ethan stood on a cliffside, his cloak billowing as he surveyed the valley below.
It had been nearly a decade since he had left Hogwarts behind. A decade spent travelling the hidden places of this world, seeking those with the potential to survive what was to come.
The first stones of his school had been laid.
At the valley's heart, nestled between ancient ruins and a shimmering silver lake, a hidden fortress was beginning to take shape.
Tall walls of enchanted stone rose against the backdrop of the mountains, their foundations infused with powerful wards.
This would be his sanctuary, his stronghold—a place where the next generation of Witchers would be forged.
A place to prepare for the coming storm.
"Still brooding over the view?"
Ethan turned at the familiar voice, a smirk playing at his lips.
Tonks stood behind him, arms crossed, her hair a playful shade of violet today.
"I was hoping for a dramatic effect," Ethan said dryly.
"Did it work?"
Tonks snorted, stepping up beside him.
"Maybe if you had a raven perched on your shoulder."
She followed his gaze, her expression softening.
"It's coming together. You've done more in a decade than most could in a lifetime."
"Still a long way to go," Ethan admitted.
"We're not just building a school. We're building a defense against what's coming."
Tonks was silent for a moment before she reached out and took his hand.
"You're not doing it alone."
He glanced at her, the weight in his chest lifting just slightly.
"I know."
A gust of wind swept through the valley, rustling the banners that now hung along the fortress walls—an insignia of a silver wolf's head against a deep blue field.
The emblem of the Witchers of the New Age.
Below, the first of his students trained under the watchful eyes of experienced warriors.
Some wielded swords, others trained in magic, but all carried the same fire in their eyes—a fire that told Ethan they were ready to fight for a world that would never thank them.
But that was the way of the Witcher.
Distant thunder rumbled across the horizon.
Ethan's grip on Tonks' hand tightened slightly.
The Convergence was coming.
He could feel it, in the whisper of the wind, in the way the magic of this world trembled beneath his feet.
And when it arrived, perhaps he would see them again.
Geralt. Yennefer. Ciri.
Family, in a way that went beyond blood.
He had lost them once when he was pulled into this world, but the Convergence meant there was a chance—however small—that their paths would cross again.
He closed his eyes, listening to the storm gathering in the distance.
A storm was brewing.
And when it arrived, they would be ready.