Chapter 1 / Blur:

Synopsis: When a young Ciri begins to blur out of reality during training, Geralt has to find a way to help her control this new symptom, before she is lost for good...

Hey all! This story takes place early on in Geralt and Ciri's life, when he's training her at Kaer Morhen. I've only really played the Witcher III: Wild Hunt and am still early on in the Blood of Elves novel, so please forgive me if my continuity or facts are off. I'm imagining that Ciri is around 8 years old at this point.

Just a quick note:

-I've drawn a lot of inspiration from the Flash: The Haunting of Barry Allen and Arrow: A Generation of Vipers novels. I loved the concept of Barry blurring and couldn't stop thinking of how well it could apply to Ciri. I just wanted to mention where the idea for this story came from.

The sounds of battle filled the air as wooden practice swords clashed. Two combatants circled each other, reading the others movements. One was a grown man, his body worn with scars. His movements were sharp. Precise. The other was a young girl, her youth clear. Her movements were shaky. Inexperienced. He was Geralt, a hardened Witcher, known as the White Wolf. She was Cirilla, a descendant of the Elder Bloodline, known as the child of prophecy. Both shared the possession of ashen hair.

They fought in the courtyards of Kaer Morhen, the Witcher stronghold. The aging castle spiked out of the hillside, forest swirling around the structure for miles upon end. An early spring dew filled the air as the warrior and his ward sparred.

Geralt continued to circle his trainee, blocking and parrying her strikes. He could see that whilst she had picked up on her training quickly, she was more unrefined than usual. He observed the dark bags under her eyes, the way her vision failed to maintain focus on him, the way she stumbled slightly every now and again as her concentration dipped. She must have had a terrible night, the Witcher thought to himself. They were currently the only two inhabitants in the fortress, as the other three resident Witcher's were all currently away on business, making Kaer Morhen feel even more lonely than usual.

Faint tendrils of cyan began to drift off of the child, misty waves of energy as Ciri tapped into the resource of her inner power. She was managing to access the power of her Elder Blood more frequently, Geralt thought, although she still had no idea how she did it. She had grown so much in her time at Kaer Morhen. The Witcher smirked at the subtle gasp she let out as she noticed the energy, using the distraction to easily disarm her.

"Never let your guard down…" Geralt told her now that he had regained her attention, his tone flat as usual, "…it can mean the difference between life and death in a real fight."

"I know, I know…" She sighed as the trails of light vanished, her sweet voice contrasting with his gruff one, "…you say that every time…"

"Doesn't make it any less true." He retorted, waiting patiently as she retrieved her training sword. He chuckled at her impish nature, unwilling to stay still for any amount of time longer than she needed to. She still had much to learn, especially in the area of patience.

The young Swallow stilled, sweat forming upon her brow as she glared intensely at Geralt, pouring all of her focus into her next strike, determined to land one hit. Just one. She poured all of her emotions into her swing. Her frustration, her impatience, her hope. Everything she had, everything that she was, was put into the strike. Her body began to glow once more, the translucent tendrils returning as she lunged forwards with an inhuman speed. Geralt barely had time to raise his arm before he was blinded by an azure flash.

The light was gone as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving the courtyard in silence. The White Wolf hesitantly lowered his arm, his face expanding in restrained terror as he saw Cirilla, at least, what was left of her.

All that remained of her was the outline of her form, a blur. Her body was a translucent mess, shuddering with a luminous glow like a candle flame caught in the wind. Her form was encased in her trademark cyan hue as Geralt swept his hand through it, the only reaction being a slight disturbance of her body.

"Just like stroking mist," the Wolf muttered to himself. The only thing that he felt was a feeble tingling in his arm as it passed through. His mutagens betrayed him as the emotionless Witcher felt a wave of despair hit his stomach. He had no idea what to do.

Vesemer would usually be Geralt's choice to ask when unknown quantities appeared, but he was unavailable right now. He longed for the elder Witcher's advice, his mentors experience and knowledge had always served him well in his countless years in the profession…No! He had to get it together. Worrying about what he couldn't do wouldn't help him. It never had before. He had to focus on what he could do to help. As he came to his senses however, the blurring receded.

Just as suddenly as the condition had started, it stopped. The young Cirilla fell to the floor, drenched in sweat as she struggled to take breaths. Geralt was by her side in an instant, sweeping her up into his arms as she passed out, presumably from exhaustion. At least he could only hope…

The White Wolf rushed inside the fortress, urgent to get his ward the help that she needed.

Night began to fall outside as the Swallow rested in her bed, ashen hair plastered to her face as her breathing settled down for the fifth time. It had been uneven over the past few hours as she slept off her exhaustion. Geralt wiped her forehead once again, steadying his shaking hand. What was wrong with him? He wasn't one to be unnerved, no matter the situation. Due to his Witcher mutations he literally couldn't access emotions in the same way that he used to.

He took a deep breath as he remembered his training. Taking a step back to ponder on the events of the day. How had he not seen this coming? He was supposed to care for her, to be the one who looked out for her. The Witcher sighed as he rubbed his face in his hands. He had noticed that she had seemed incredibly tired lately, and knew that she had experienced one or two restless nights, but could that have caused this? Whatever this was? Come to think of it, she hadn't seemed her chirpy self for a little while now. How long had it been since she'd last had a good nights sleep? He began to realise how wrong he had been about her current situation. His usual answer to problems like this was to train, to excessively work himself so that he didn't have time to dwell on his problems. He should have known that it would not be the same for Ciri…

Geralt was taken out of his thoughts when his enhanced hearing picked up on the subtle change in her breathing. He did his best to clean himself up slightly, putting on a brave face as Ciri awoke.

The young Swallow shot up, gulping breaths down as she swept her gaze across the room, the stone walls feeling more restricting then ever before. She felt the gentle squeeze of Geralt's hand on her shoulder as she slowly turned to face him, bravely attempting to hide her brimming tears.

"How are you feeling?" He asked her, his voice calm and reserved, as if she would have expected anything less. Ciri had never appreciated his ever-composed demeanour anymore than she did right now. She struggled to find her voice for a second before replying.

"I'm…I'm fine," she lied. They both knew that she wasn't. Her body couldn't stop shaking. Geralt paused, giving her a moment before continuing.

"You haven't been sleeping well recently…" He lingered, not sure how wise it was to pressure her to open up whilst she was still recovering, "…have you been experiencing any nightmares?" He already knew the answer to his question. His sensitive ears had picked up the sounds of her discomfort once or twice, but she had been insisting on getting through her troubles herself lately, craving the independence that he displayed. He had hoped that she would have come to him if they were too bad. Maybe keeping his distance and giving her space had been the wrong move. Damn. He was good at dealing with monsters, not with people.

Ciri only lowered her head in response, unable to meet his eyes. She couldn't bring herself to tell him the truth. The girl longed to, but how could she tell him what she had seen? How could she tell him that she had seen his death? She reached her shaking hand up towards her neck, grasping the replica medallion that Geralt had gifted to her on her last birthday. The item brought her comfort, reminding her of everything that a Witcher is. Strong. Disciplined. Determined. It tethered her to everything that she wanted to be.

"I'll uh…I'll let you get some rest…" Geralt stated, breaking her trance. He was clearly finding it uncomfortable, unsure what he should do. "I'll only be down the hall if you need anything…"

She watched as he hesitantly got to his feet, waiting for her to give him a signal to stay. She didn't. She burst into tears as soon as he closed the door, no longer caring whether he could hear or not. She clutched her medallion for dear life as she curled up on the bed, refusing to subject herself to more sleep. Refusing to subject herself to more nightmares...

Just a note or two:

-I cannot remember whether Ciri has a Witcher medallion or not, I think I remember her having a School of the Cat symbol one, but I wouldn't swear to that, so for this story she has a replica of Geralt's Wolf pendant, something that if you wanted to stick to canon she could lose later on as she grows up

-I feel kind of bad for the truckload of angst, but from the Witcher III game and what little I have read of the Blood of Elves novel that Geralt is not a great with emotions, his heart and actions are in the right place but his emotional responses are not too good

-Please feel free to leave comments, compliments and criticism are both welcomed, as well as any suggestions for scenes/future stories. I have this one planned out but any future content inspiration would be great!