AN: Bit of backstory:

Valens Tulkas Stormborn is the last remaining vestigial fragment belonging to the Dragonlords of the Sky-reaching Peaks, which remain to be the grandest spires of rock and ice to pierce the clouds above the Blue Mountains; serving as the impenetrable abode of the Draconian Wiedźmins. Alongside the Dragons, only three known schools of prestigious note possessed the innately born mutations of Witchers, passed down through generations of fertile Witchmen.

The School of the Whispering claws, the shrouded dusk that cuts away light. The Cat School.

The Warlocks of the Aedirnian Valleys, those who need no blade to cull the tides of chaos. The Griffin School.

And finally the Beast lords of the Northern gales, the stalwart might which crashes defiantly against all. The Bear School.

All have fallen, all have faded into nothingness; their teachings, their crafts and ideals lost to the eroding force of time.

The Last of the Bears, had warred against the Last of the Dragons; extinguishing both lives and leaving the infantile Valens to rise from the ashes; in utter desolation and solitude. However, the Dragon-blood was unyielding, unfazed, unbroken...

Valens flourished in amidst the tithes of alienation, the Hallowed halls of the Dragonlords gave birth to the one who would walk the forgotten path of Force and Fire, of Blood and Silver.

The Last Dragonlord had taken to sea, determined to aid the Wolves of Kaer Morhen in their desperate bid to reclaim their ashen pup; the young girl who had somehow managed to warm the cold fire that burned forever more within his heart with nary a smile. Valens had dove into the bowels of the Worlds, a maelstrom that dominated a blackened sea capable of swallowing entire lands; and found himself adrift in the soul-laden waters of Drangleic. Where he found nought but misery, hopelessness and a futile resilience against a darkness so abyssal that it threatened to swallow the sun above.

Whilst there, he found nothing but remnants and an old cursed Knight who had fallen to the dark whose burden he had forced upon himself, in a moment of what he could not deny being true sympathy.

The rest is Witcher shit, you should be able to make the connections.

Read this! If nothing else...

- "Talking"

- "Powerful entity talking"

- 'Thinking'

- 'Powerful entity thinking'

"He was the last of the dragon blood; an offspring belonging of the sky-lords, within his heart laid the souls of the greatest Witcher's ever to walk the earth. The school of fire and force will be his abode, a being of wisdom and divine intensity will be his Master. Say grace thus upon him, for Dragonlord Valens sheds no tear on his arrival."

- Francesca Findabair heralding the birth of Valens Tulkas Stormborn after a violent arcane vision, who was at the time the last Witcher from the Dragon school.

"Where will you go now? You have aided the White wolf on his many quests, you have lifted the curse on Bohdvin, you have returned from your journey across the sea. To where did you go again, my son, remind me."

Valens shrugged his shoulders loosely as they seemed fit to remind him of his battle with the cursed Azure Knight. "Drangleic… I went to Drangleic."

"Did you find what you seek?"

The Dragon Witcher shook his head slowly, "No, Master."

A deep grumble could be heard throughout the cathedral-like cave they were standing in. "Forgive me, child. The wind gestured strongly towards the cursed place."

Valens shook his head, "Not your fault, they were there. But left before I got to them."

"The Wild Hunt, such a nuisance. Hmm, tell me, how long has it been since you set out to find… Her?"

"I… Please, I do not wish to speak of this." Valens tensed slightly as a deep anger began to brew within him.

"How long?" It was more of a statement than a question at this point.

The golden eyed Witcher sighed as the anger was replaced by sorrow. "Three years."

"And for three years, you hauled along your burden of regret, anger, sorrow and hatred. For three years you haven't slept, three years and you have never stopped fighting."

Valens' posture jerked upright as he shot a glare into the darkness. The being in the shadows snorted softly. "Of course I know. You are of my blood, I can feel your emotions, I can hear your soul churn in mourning. I know the pain of Love, child. How could I not? I lost you to the abyss for thirty years."

The Dragon Witcher felt his resolve crumble before letting out a long, frustrated growl. "You're right, moon after moon, nightmares plague me. The abyss taunts me, the Azure Knight said that it was unrelenting when I freed him and took his burden upon myself, but without her… It's become nigh unbearable." He growled again, lowly and desperately. "I miss her terribly, this place…" Valens gestured to his chest. "It feels like someone is driving a hot blade into it, over and over again."

Valens turned and began to pace in anger, idly twirling a knife for the sheer purpose of keeping his hands occupied as he walked back and forth. "I've mastered my training, I've passed the trial of Demons, I've travelled for eternity across a sea to a place that knows nothing but sorrow, and yet, I still couldn't free her of her curse, I still feel lost. What is my purpose here, Master? What do I do?"

"Hmm, there is a war brewing. I mean not the war of men, Valens, but the war of worlds." Valens' head snapped up at this, he stared into the large, glowing eyes that shone out from the darkness from across the cavern. "There is nothing for you here, besides some old scales and dusty walls. Go to Kaer Morhen, our brethren, the Wolven school. The White Wolf will not allow his child to remain alone for long. Maybe your search will fare better with him, just know that not every burden is yours to bear.

Valens stopped pacing and stared into the darkness once more. "Is this your wish? I had thought you wanted me to stay by your side."

The deep, gravelly voice chuckled softly. "I did."

"And?"

"The quest I dote upon you holds more importance than an old Dragon's wishes. Go, my son. And return to me with more tales to tell, I wish to know all about this adventure. And, I wish to meet this young female, I will judge her worthiness."

Out of the darkness, a massive, vermillion coloured Dragon stepped forwards into the light of the nearby braziers. His angular head was large and weathered, the leather of his hide tough and scarred, the result of years of travel and battle. Curling his wings in closer to his flanks, the old Dragon's golden, slated eyes stared into Valens' golden slitted ones. The Dragon Witcher grinned at the sight of his mentor, his canines gleaming in the light of the braziers. "She would have loved you. The grumpy, old, lovable hunk of meat that you are."

The great dragon scoffed, a small sprout of smoke puffed out from his nose and into Valens' mouth, making the raven haired man cough. "Get out of here youngling, before I torch you." Despite its words, the old Dragon's eyes were filled with warmth.

Valens waved away the smoke on got on one knee before bowing his head, "Farewell Master, I'll be sure to bring you a gift."

"Hmm, make sure you do."

With a small smile, Valens turned and swiftly exited the cavern. Heading towards the Keep atop the mountain where the once mighty school had trained the greatest Witchers ever to live.

Valens sighed as a pleasant burning feeling enveloped his entire left arm from fingertips to shoulder, within seconds, his entire left arm was enveloped in matt black, scaled gauntlet. The wasn't a single seam or joint in sight, and despite this, it still seemed to move perfectly with Valens' actions. A gift from the legendary sorcerer smith, Bras of Ban Ard. The runes engraved into his skin acted like a storage seal containing the gauntlet he wore now, the aptly named Dragon's reach. Stepping into the view of the mirror, Valens grunted at his appearance.

He had donned the Warrior's leather ring mail that he had Bras also craft for him. It was similar to the armour of Kaer Morhen, which was why he had chosen it. The armour was light, so he could move as needed and it was sturdy enough to halt a swing or two from a sword or axe. No coifs or loose pieces that could get tangled up either besides the enchanted cowl woven into it. For his bottoms he wore black, silk hunting trousers tucked into stag velvet riding boots that came up to his knees, more for comfort and charm than protection. Strapped tightly to the back of his hip was a large saxe knife, and slung over his back was a two-handed Dane battleaxe. The shaft was made of turned meteorite and tungsten, while the single head on it was made of dragon forged dark steel. The edge was made from pure silver as well as the spike that protruded from the other side of the shaft, silver, in order to deal with the more ghastly of enemies. It was beautiful, top heavy, and brutally efficient, a stark contrast from the usual two sword get-up that most Witchers favoured.

Shifting his trusty axe around on his back, Valens exited the armoury and stalked through the ghostly silent keep. Even though he knew better, he could feel eyes on him, staring at him as he made his way out. It has been said that every Dragonlord ever to fall in battle returned to the heavens, to reside with Dragons and watch over the current Dragonlords still trudging their way through life. But nowhere was the feeling more pronounced than here, in a sanctuary of Witchers.

In the courtyard, among the gaze of the dead, his horse waited for him. Rounding a corner into the wide-open area, Valens palmed his face in disbelief, laced with a healthy amount of amusement. His trusty steed was prancing around, throwing clouds of snow and dirt into the air as it chased and snapped at the snowflakes falling from the sky. "Tug! Come here, you buffoon."

The horse in question seemingly froze, then spun around and cantered towards its master, only to deliver Valens a hearty head-butt. The Witcher growled as he massaged his forehead, glaring at the playful horse, he flicked its nose in retaliation. "Stop being a moron, let's go, we've a long ride ahead of us."

Tug cocked his head to the side slightly, as if asking a question. "We're leaving so soon?" He seemed to say.

"Yeah, something's come up." Valens stroked the dark grey horse's nose in a familiar fashion before shaking his head clear of thoughts and hauling himself up into the saddle with experienced finesse. Taking hold of the reins in one hand, he nudged Tug's side ever so gently with his knee. The lean animal responded instantly as he began to plod softly forwards.

Valens took in the once mighty stone walls of the Dragon school before sighing. 'How the mighty have fallen.' He mused quietly within his mind.

Tug snorted quietly and shook his mane, "You wouldn't have fit in at all here if that was the case."

Valens smirked, his melancholy mood slowly evaporating thanks to his best friend's effort to cheer him up. "Piss off, Tug." The horse just snorted again in response.

With a twitch of the reins, Tug turned and began to pace out of the keep and down the long, windy path that would see them away from the Mountains of the Dragon School.