Time passed quickly, yet slowly at Kaer Morhen. Kara remained at the fortress with the Witcher's over the winter as the Witchers adjusted to an infant's presence. Vesemir had all but raised Geralt from Infancy, leaving him as the most experienced of the group, though quite rusty.

Geralt, for his part, tried to help with Korin in his daily life, remaining in Kaer Morhen until spring before deciding to return to the path. A small Spark in her eyes, Kara decided to join him. Traveling together, Geralt began to discover the slow steady joys of watching his son grow through the summer. Kara adapted to life on the road easily, gathering herbs with Korin in her arms, tending the small injuries that came of life on the road.

Upon reaching the borders of Novigrad they were greeted by the bright music of an overzealous bard, performing the Ballad of The White Wolf's Cub. The Songs writer, in turn, was delighted to host them, fawning over the small child they had brought.

Wherever they went, Kara applied her trade, tending those who were sick or hurt while Geralt hunted the quary's of his contracts.

Winter saw them returning to the safety of Kaer Morhen, where, after all that time, Yennefer finally paid Geralt a visit. Disdain clear in her appearance of Kara still, though she did not demean herself to speak of it in front of Korin, no matter his age.

Years passed in this way, in the routine of the Witcher's life. Kara grew more beautiful, growing sure of her role as a healer, flourishing in the remote castle. Yen visited in the wintertime, avoiding Kara and Korin entirely. Kara, for her part, felt joy for Geralt when Yen visited. His heart was owned by the Raven haired sorceress, so to know that she had not abandoned him due to Kara brought her joy. She was more than happy to occupy her son's days with Lambert and Eskel, teaching him the herbs and basics of Alchemy, as he grew older.

Korin grew steadily, as all children do, soon walking, and able to hold a sword. The day after he could, Geralt was practicing with him. It was a simple sort of practice, bordering on playing with sticks in the courtyard, but it was training nonetheless.

Years continued to pass, seeing Korin grow stronger with each season that passed. Every year it became clearer that he had Witcher in his blood. Geralt never pushed him, nor did Eskel or Lambert -who despite his best attempts had grown fond of the youngest witcher- but the boy seemed to keep pace with them, developing his reflexes swiftly.

Every year, without fail, they would visit Novigrad, letting Dandelion and Zoltan see Korin. Though, as more people began to believe the stories of the White Wolf's Cub, Geralt began to decline the trip.

By his tenth birthday, Korin was almost as proficient as his father with a sword, his feet moving surely as he practiced his weapons.

Kara leaned on the ramparts of Kaer Morhen, gazing beneath her at the two figures crossing wooden blades beneath her. It could have almost been a fairy tale; two knights sparring for the hand of the beautiful damsel. Except for one thing; one of the fighter's was half the size of the other. He was also identical to his teacher.

Korin moved his feet swiftly and surely, matching his father's sword stroke for stroke. Geralt's wooden sword flew, seeking a weak point in his son's defense. Finally spotting it, he struck, landing a solid thump against the lads side. "Gotta watch your side." he said, lowering the weapon. "Your reflexes are good, gotta watch your side though." he said before smirking "You did good." he finished, watching his son hold his sore side. Geralt hadn't stuck him with full strength, but knew full well there would be a bruise for a few days.

Kara left the refuge of the wall, hurrying down to the two. "Korin?" she asked, glancing at the boys side.

"I'm fine" he said, gold eyes looking towards his mother, flashing her a grin. He was almost a spitting image of his father, his features displaying the same type of jaw set as his sire. He'd grown his hair out, tying it back in a half ponytail, declaring that it was how a witcher ought to look.

Kara returned her sons smile, resting to lean back against the wall of the fortress, as Korin raised his sword. Geralt shook his head "Enough for now." he said. "We're leaving Kaer Morhen again today, remember?" he asked, nodding towards the lovely redhead "Go with your mother and clean up" he said, using the wooden sword to nudge the boy towards Kara, shooting the woman a glance. Wrapping an arm around her son, she smiled, nodding to Geralt.

Resting his weapon over his shoulder, he started off after her, feeling as if the world would be right. Ciri was safe, and alive, his son was strong, safe and held all the promise of the future. Yen visited him from time to time, always avoiding Kara and Korin. Kara had blossomed in Kaer Morhen, becoming a better healer as time went on, rivaling any master twice her age, taught by the witchers and healing them from their injuries. She remained a constant point of warmth for him, a companion he took on the path with him, Korin as well. Life held promise, and most importantly, joy for the Witcher.