Two days on the road had passed by swiftly, and by the time the walls of Ard Carraigh came into full view, the world felt larger to Seb than it had back at Kaer Morhen.
The city rose from the land in layered contrast. Timber-framed houses leaned into one another, their roofs heavy with melting snow, while older stone structures stood stubbornly between them, remnants of something far older, elven perhaps, their pale surfaces worn out. Smoke drifted lazily into the grey sky, and even from a distance, the sound of life could be felt and heard.
Sebastian slowed his horse without meaning to.
His gaze moved slowly, taking it all in, the walls, the gates, the people moving like ants beyond them, the way the city seemed alive in a way the keep of Kaer Morhen never was. There was no awe in his expression, he was more thoughtful.
Vesemir noticed immediately.
A faint, smile touched the old witcher's lips as he kept his eyes forward.
"Welcome to the capital of Kaedwen."
Seb let out a breath through his nose, almost amused at himself for staring.
"Pretty nice city."
There was no sarcasm in it. Just a simple observation.
Vesemir snorted softly.
"You're Nilfgaardian. You've lived in the City of Golden Towers. This should look like a collection of firewood by comparison."
Seb laughed, shaking his head slightly as they approached the gates.
"Maybe. But at this point…" his eyes lingered on the streets ahead, "I barely remember it. Feels more like something I read about than something I lived in."
They passed through the gates without much trouble, though the guards watched them longer than necessary, their eyes settling on medallions, on swords, on eyes that weren't human.
Vesemir spoke again, more casually now.
"Then why not go back? I've heard witchers aren't treated as badly there. Might be rumors, but…"
Seb considered it, genuinely this time.
"I might, one day." His voice lowered slightly, more thoughtful. "I'd like to know if there's anything left for me there. Family… maybe. Or at least answers."
A brief pause passed before he added, almost offhandedly, "Could help with Ciri too. If I went south, I could look into things, listen around, see what people say.."
"No."
The word cut cleanly through the moment.
Seb turned his head, caught off guard by Vesemir's tone.
Vesemir didn't look at him as he continued.
"Stay away from politics. Kings. Emperors. All of it, leave that to Geralt, the fool's already tangled himself in that mess more times than I like. Keeps thinking he can walk that dangerous line and not get dragged under." A faint shake of the head followed. "One day, it'll cost him, I keep telling him not to get involved."
Seb watched him for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"I get it. I won't go looking for that kind of trouble."
Vesemir gave a low grunt.
"You'd better not. If the things I've heard are half true, then Nilfgaard's emperor isn't a man you 'look into' and walk away from"
They rode deeper into the city after that, and the mood shifted, not between them, but around them.
People noticed.
At first, it was subtle. A glance held too long. A conversation that quieted as they passed. Then it grew bolder.
A man standing by a cart spat onto the ground just ahead of their horses.
"Mutants…"
A woman pulled her child closer, her eyes sharp with distrust.
"Keep walking," she muttered under her breath, though loud enough for them to hear.
Someone else laughed, a dry, unpleasant sound.
"Didn't know they let freaks ride through the gates now."
Sebastian's expression didn't change, but his eyes flicked once, taking everything in. The words didn't surprise him. If anything, this was exactly what he had expected.
Still, expectation didn't make it pleasant.
They stopped in front of a tavern, its wooden sign creaking softly in the wind.
Seb swung down from his horse, boots landing in slush and dirt. He took a slow look around as another man spat in their direction, not at them, but close enough to make the point.
"Charming place," Seb murmured.
Vesemir dismounted beside him, tying his horse with ease.
"Don't mind them. You'll hear worse before winter comes around again."
Seb exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders.
"I figured as much."
Vesemir gave him a sidelong look.
"Just remember... stay away from trouble. And by trouble, I mean don't start cutting people down because they don't like your eyes."
Seb glanced at the man who had spat earlier, then away again, Seb was still calm and controlled.
"It's not worth it, I know."
That was enough for Vesemir. He nodded once toward the tavern door.
"Good. Then let's get to work."
Inside, the tavern was warmer, louder, filled with the smell of ale, vodka, damp wood, and too many bodies in too small a space. Conversations dipped slightly when they entered.
The presence of two Witchers had that effect.
Vesemir moved through the tavern, his familiarity with places like this evident in every step he took. Seb followed, less concerned with fitting in, more with observing, faces, reactions, the subtle shifts in tone when people realized what had just walked in.
Near the bar, a worn notice board hung crooked against the wall, covered in scraps of parchment.
Vesemir gestured toward it.
"There. That's where your day starts."
Seb glanced at him, one brow lifting.
"We are not resting?"
Vesemir folded his arms,
"No, you'll take the contract. Talk to whoever posted it, set the price and decide the terms."
"And you, you really want to accompany me on this hunt? I don't exactly need help you know..." Seb asked.
Vesemir's smirk deepened just slightly.
"I'll just watch."
Seb let out a quiet sigh.
"Of course you will."
"Monsters are the easy part," Vesemir added. "People aren't. If you can't handle the latter, the former won't matter much."
Seb turned his attention to the board, eyes scanning the postings, then flicking briefly toward the room behind him.
Then, slowly, a small, confident smile formed.
"Alright," he said under his breath.
Sebastian stood before the notice board, eyes scanning the overlapping parchments. Contracts layered over older contracts, some torn halfway through, others stained with ale or something darker. His fingers hovered briefly before settling on one that looked newer than the rest, cleaner edges, firmer ink, recently nailed in place.
He pulled it free.
The parchment gave with a little tear of resistance, and the moment it did, a voice rose from behind the counter of the tavern.
"Oh, that one."
Seb glanced over his shoulder.
The tavern keeper hadn't moved from his place, cloth in hand as he wiped down a mug that had likely never truly been clean. His eyes, however, were fixed on the parchment in Seb's hand.
"Someone nailed it up yesterday, fancy script that one, smelled like coin the moment I saw it."
Seb turned slightly, the parchment still raised in his hand as he studied the man for a second longer than necessary. There was no mockery in the innkeeper's tone. No fear either.
Unusually so.
"Well," Seb said after a moment, "that saves me some guessing. Thanks."
The man shrugged, as if it cost him nothing.
"House on the outskirts, belongs to a noble."
Seb gave a small nod and turned back to the parchment, though a thought crossed his mind as his eyes began to move across the ink.
'What he just said...That's… literally written here.'
His lips twitched faintly, but he said nothing of it.
Instead, he read.
"Count Wilfrid…" he said, more to himself than anyone else, though Vesemir was close enough to hear every word. "Requests the aid of a witcher.. or any man versed in lifting curses, bindings, or darker afflictions."
His eyes narrowed slightly as he continued, tone shifting as he processed it.
"His wife has fallen ill, very much so. Some say cursed, others say possessed. No clear signs described… no symptoms listed. Just requesting urgent help and coin as a reward."
He lowered the parchment slightly, gaze lingering on the final lines.
"No mention of what's been tried already either. No priest, no mage… nothing."
There was a brief silence.
Then Vesemir stepped up beside him.
"Take it."
Seb glanced at him.
Vesemir's eyes were on the parchment now, thoughtful, experienced in the way only decades could shape.
"Cases like that rarely come simple. It is a curse, if it were just sickness, they wouldn't be asking for a witcher, something seriously wrong is going on there."
His hand came down on Seb's shoulder,
"I also feel like there's something else there. Something they either don't understand… or don't want to write down."
A look passed between them.
"It'll be an interesting contract."
Seb studied the parchment one last time before folding it carefully, sliding it into his coat.
"Alright."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
He turned toward the door, already moving.
"Let's go see what kind of mess this Count is in."
/-\
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