The summer of Geralt's third year brought a revelation that would reshape both their lives forever. It began with a simple request—he asked his mother to teach him to read. Not the basic recognition of letters that some noble children learned at five or six, but true literacy with all its complexities.
"I need to know about this place," he explained with the serious demeanor of someone far older than his years. "I have dreams about it, but they're all mixed up with memories that aren't from here. If I can read the books, maybe I can understand what's real and what's from... before."
Visenna's heart nearly stopped at his casual mention of "before." She had suspected something of the sort, but hearing him acknowledge it so directly was both a relief and a source of new worry. "What do you remember from before, my love?"
Geralt was quiet for a long moment, his small brow furrowed in concentration. "I remember being bigger. And alone—always alone, Mama. There was no one like you who loved me. And I remember stories about places like this one, about people with names like ours, but they were just... pictures and voices, not real." He looked up at her with eyes that held depths of longing she had never seen in a child. "That's why I love you so much, Mama. Because in that other place, I never had anyone who cared if I was happy or sad or afraid."
The reading lessons began immediately. Visenna procured every book she could find from passing merchants and traveling scholars, paying with healing services and small enchantments. Geralt absorbed written knowledge with the same supernatural speed he had shown in learning to speak. Within weeks, he was reading fluently in the common tongue and showing aptitude for Elder Speech that amazed his mother.
It was through these books—histories of the northern kingdoms, accounts of monsters and magic, tales of heroes and villains—that Geralt began to piece together the true nature of his situation. The scattered memories from his previous life started to coalesce into a coherent understanding: he had been reborn into the world of The Witcher, the fictional universe he had experienced as games and stories in another existence.
"Mama," he said one evening as autumn painted the mountains in shades of gold and red, "I know what I am. And I know what's supposed to happen to me."