Chapter 22: SEEKERS OF HELP
The smell of food dragged me back to consciousness.
Not the gentle awakening of a rested mind, but the desperate clawing of a body that had burned through every reserve and now demanded repayment. My stomach cramped with hunger so intense it felt like a knife twisting in my gut.
I opened my eyes to find Ciri sitting beside my bunk, a tray balanced on her knees.
"Thirty-two hours," she said before I could ask. "Vesemir wanted to let you sleep longer, but I convinced him you needed to eat."
Thirty-two hours. I lost more than a day.
I tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. The room spun, my head pounded, and something deep in my consciousness felt... wrong. Bruised in a way that had nothing to do with physical injury.
[PSYCHIC DAMAGE: 40% — REGENERATING]
[HP: 280/390]
[SP: 140/205]
The system confirmed what my body already knew. Fighting Voleth Meir on her home ground—inside dreams, inside minds—had cost me more than stamina. Some fundamental part of me had been strained to its limits.
"Easy." Ciri steadied the tray as I finally managed to prop myself against the wall. "The soup's not going anywhere."
The soup was Vesemir's mystery stew again. I'd never been so grateful for terrible cooking in my life. The first spoonful hit my stomach and my body seemed to sigh with relief.
"Thank you," I managed between bites. "For watching over me."
"Fair's fair." She studied me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "You entered my nightmare and fought an ancient demon for me. The least I could do was make sure you didn't die in your sleep."
She's processing it. What I did, what it means, what happens now.
"How are you?" I asked. "After... everything?"
"Scared." The honesty surprised me. "But also... not alone. Which helps." She looked away, something complicated moving behind her eyes. "No one's ever done anything like that for me before. Followed me into the dark."
"That's what I'm here for."
The words came out simple, factual. But something in the air between us shifted—not dramatically, not obviously, just a subtle rearrangement of the distance we'd been maintaining.
"Eat," she said, standing. "Geralt should be back soon. You'll want to be on your feet when Yennefer gets here."
"Yennefer's coming?"
"Geralt's message said two days. It's been almost that." Ciri's expression shifted toward something that might have been nervousness. "I've heard stories. About her. About what she's capable of."
"Good stories or bad stories?"
"Depends on who's telling them."
The horns sounded three hours later.
I'd managed to eat, wash, and dress myself in something that didn't smell like thirty-two hours of nightmare sweat by the time the gates creaked open. The keep's remaining defenders—Vesemir, Lambert, Ciri, and myself—gathered in the courtyard to receive our reinforcements.
Geralt rode through first, looking like he'd pushed himself to the edge of collapse and kept going anyway. His horse was lathered with exhaustion, and the dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept any more than I had.
Behind him came Yennefer.
She was exactly as I'd imagined from meta-knowledge—violet eyes that seemed to see through pretense, raven hair arranged with deliberate precision, an aura of power that made the air itself feel heavier. Her horse looked fresh despite the hard travel, which suggested magical assistance that Geralt's mount hadn't received.
Her eyes found me immediately.
I felt magic pulse outward from her—a scanning spell, probing my nature, trying to categorize what she was looking at. The Nullification stirred instinctively, wanting to disrupt the intrusion, but I held it back. Let her look. I had nothing to hide except the things I couldn't reveal to anyone.
The scan lasted three seconds. Her expression didn't change, but something in her posture suggested she hadn't found what she expected.
"Vesemir." She dismounted with practiced grace. "You're looking well for a man under siege."
"Yennefer." The old Witcher's tone was carefully neutral. "Thank you for coming."
"Thank Geralt. He was... persuasive." Her attention shifted to Ciri, and everything else seemed to fade into background noise. "You've grown, child."
"I'm not a child anymore."
"No. No, you're not." Yennefer's voice carried something that might have been pride, might have been concern, probably was both. "We have much to discuss. But first—" Her gaze returned to me. "I'd like a private word with the ancient mystery who's been playing guardian."
"Cole," I said. "My name is Cole."
"Is it?" She smiled without warmth. "Let's find out."
She cornered me in the armory before dinner.
I'd expected it—the confrontation, the interrogation, the demand for answers. What I hadn't expected was her approach: direct, unvarnished, and surprisingly respectful of my time.
"What exactly are you?"
"Honestly? Still figuring that out." I leaned against a weapons rack, keeping my posture relaxed despite the tension coiling in my gut. "I woke up in a sealed chamber under the keep about a month ago. Ancient body, fragmented memories, abilities I'm still learning to control."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
Yennefer's eyes narrowed. The scanning magic pulsed again, more targeted this time, probing at the edges of my consciousness. The Nullification twitched in response, and I saw her register the reaction.
"You can disrupt magic," she said. Not a question.
"Among other things."
"And you've been protecting Ciri. Fighting the entity that's possessing Eskel." She circled me slowly, assessing. "Geralt says you entered her dreams. Pushed the Deathless Mother back by force of will."
"It was more complicated than that."
"I'm sure it was." She stopped circling, facing me directly. "Here's what I know: you're not human. You're not a Witcher, despite the mutations. You're not any species I can identify, and I've studied most of them. You feel old—older than this keep, possibly older than anything alive on the Continent."
All true. Can't argue with the assessment.
"And yet," she continued, "Geralt trusts you. Ciri trusts you. Even Vesemir, who should know better, seems to think you're worth keeping around."
"I've been useful."
"Useful things can still be dangerous." Her voice sharpened. "What are your intentions with Ciri?"
The question caught me off guard. Not because I hadn't expected it—anyone who cared about Ciri would ask the same thing—but because of how direct it was.
"I'm going to protect her," I said. "From Voleth Meir. From the Wild Hunt. From whatever else tries to use or destroy her. That's not negotiable."
"Why?"
Because I chose to. Because something in me was designed for this. Because she's become important to me in ways I'm still learning to understand.
"Because it's the right thing to do."
Yennefer studied me for a long moment. The magic around her shifted—not attacking, just... settling. Making a decision.
"That's not a satisfying answer," she said finally. "But it's honest. I can work with honest."
"Does that mean you're not going to try to destroy me?"
"That depends entirely on what you do next." She turned toward the door. "We have a demon to exorcise and a Witcher to save. Focus on that. We can sort out the rest afterward."
I watched her go, something in my chest loosening slightly.
First hurdle cleared. Now we just have to survive the rest.
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