Chapter 1: The Arrival

The blizzard howled through the valley like a wounded beast, but the gates of Kaer Morhen groaned open all the same. Yennefer of Vengerberg sat astride a black mare, her violet cloak crusted with ice, her raven hair whipping in the wind. Behind her, a sled groaned under the weight of seven trunks—leather, brass-bound, and utterly out of place against the crumbling stone walls. Geralt stood in the courtyard, arms crossed, snow dusting his white hair. Lambert leaned against a post, smirking. Vesemir simply watched from the doorway, a faint glint in his old eyes. “You’re late,” Geralt said. Yennefer dismounted without a word, her boots crunching on the frozen ground. She swept past him, pausing only to glance at the keep’s facade. “It’s even uglier than you described. And colder. I’ll need a fire in my room within the hour, a bath drawn immediately, and someone to carry my trunks—carefully. The one with the silver clasp contains glass.” Lambert snorted. “We don’t have a bath. We have a trough.” Yennefer turned, her violet eyes narrowing. “Then you’ll fill it with hot water and find me soap that doesn’t smell of horse. I’m not asking, witcher.” Lambert opened his mouth, but Vesemir’s voice cut through. “Eskel’s boiling water now. I’ll show you to the guest quarters—such as they are.” Yennefer inclined her head, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. “Finally, someone with sense.” As she followed Vesemir inside, Geralt caught her arm. “You brought seven trunks. For a winter.” “I brought civilization, Geralt. You’ll thank me by spring.” She pulled free and disappeared into the keep’s gloom, leaving the witchers in the swirling snow. Lambert kicked a stone. “I’m sleeping in the stables.” Geralt sighed. “You’ll get used to it.”