Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of the official ''The Witcher'' license, including both the books and games.

Freshly fallen layers of snow crunched under sturdy boots. Where once the witcher would have been wary of leaving behind prints, it mattered little now, for what was there left to seize? His home had become little more than a ruinous arrangement of bleak stone; cold like the parting memories he held of it. And yet, there he stood at the edge of that creaking drawbridge he had walked down so many times before. The moat beneath it had long since been occupied by overgrown vegetation; naked branches reaching all the way past the walkway's railing and snaking up the walls of the gatehouse, which, apart from the broken gap in the portcullis, still stood strong.

Sparsely falling snowflakes danced in the brisk wind of the Blue Mountains, drifted by its current along their gentle descent. A few melted against Eskel's face as he turned to gaze upon the surrounding cliffs, where evergreen pines swayed like the bristles of a great slumbering behemoth.

The noon sun glared between jagged peaks. Its light bounced off the ancient structure of Kaer Morhen, walls glazed with frost. With its eroded battlements and the mold growing between its building blocks, the keep looked more like a historical monument than a functioning fortress; something a scholar would have had a field day exploring.

''It's the only home we ever had. Stay.''

The words Geralt spoke at their mentor's funeral, so finely etched against his mind that his dear friend might as well have been standing next to him, repeated in his head. At the time he had dismissed the notion and spent the following winter in a lodge down south - a nobleman's scenic retreat, which he had been permitted to use after dealing with a particularly nasty haunting. That year, however, Eskel decided that it was indeed time to return home.

He snorted, secured the bundle of firewood under his arm and walked inside. As the witcher emerged out of the gatehouse and into the inner bailey, he found it to be in no better state than the exterior. Of course, that was expected. The wooden roof of what once passed as a stable had caved under the weight of the elements. Next to the pile of debris, a straw dummy defiantly stood as they left it; the sole protector of a crumbling castle with his white cap of snow.

''At ease, guardsman.'' Eskel muttered with a low, gravely chuckle. An attempt to mask the overbearing feeling of loneliness that hung over the scene. Not that the old fort was particularly lively even with Vesemir around, but it somehow never felt empty. The silence, once serene and a welcomed escape, had turned deafening. He stepped in the shadow of the blunt donjon huddled against the mountainous precipices. They really did not make castles like they used to, the witcher thought. Very rarely did one see a tower of such scale in more modern works of masonry. Especially in the Northern Kingdoms. A true shame that nowadays it was no more than a heavily fortified perch for the occasional eagle. At least, he hoped it were only birds that dwelt up there and not a few draconids...

It was when Eskel approached the nearest set of steps that he caught the faint scent of alcohol in the air. Immediately, he dropped the stack of dry branches in favor for reaching to his swords. His gloved hand wrapped around the handle of the steel one and his stance lowered, amber eyes shifting to the most likely points of ambush. He had heard rumors of marauders prowling the trails north of former Dol Blathanna; wildmen who hunt traveling caravans. Like a pack of rabid dogs, the roadside merchant described them. If any somehow found Kaer Morhen, with its isolated site and easily defendable structure, it was more than likely that they would have found it a suitable hideout.

Akin to a mountain lion, the experienced witcher crept up the frozen stairs, half-drawn blade rested on one broad shoulder and prepared to cut down any whom dared trespass upon his alma mater. He carefully pushed open one wing of the bulky oaken door that led into the main chamber. The hinges groaned in protest. He felt as if he was disturbing some long-forgotten crypt.

Eskel noticed that none of the braziers and torches were lit. The fire pit in the middle also looked to have not been used recently- if at all, since the day he left. The still air was nearly as cold as the outside. While his enhanced sight was able to peer through the almost complete pitch blackness, it was doubtful that any normal man would have settled for such conditions, savage or otherwise.

A full exploration of the first floor further disproved his initial assumption, for he found naught but dust and wintering rodents. His relieved sigh was cut short, however, once the clacking of light steps upon stone had reached his sensitive ears. Definitely not the walk of a brutish bandit, unless he was particularly flamboyant. It came from upstairs - Geralt and Yennefer's former love nest, prompting Eskel to head up the winding staircase.

The closer he got to the presumed source, the stronger the previously fleeting smell became. He was able to identify it as a sweet mix of liquor and floral perfume. Once he reached the top and swung open the bedroom's door, he was assaulted by a gust of warmth emanating from beyond it. The familiar aroma had now seeped through his very senses.

Sitting with one smooth, feminine leg crossed atop the other in a chair closest to the tinted windows was exactly whom he expected. Fiery tresses were nonchalantly combed back by a hand delicate and measured, revealing emerald eyes, glinting like the gemstone they shared their hue with. In the other set of fingers, a chalice was held, the contents of which was already deduced. Full lips curved in a pleasantly surprised smile...