The morning air was sharp and cool as the trio left Darryn's Rest behind. The sounds of the river and bustling port slowly faded into the rhythmic beat of hooves and the creaking of leather straps. Cain rode at the front, his new cloak fluttering behind him, while Callum and Calanthe followed at a measured pace.
It had been a quiet morning—until Cain looked over his shoulder, brow arched.
"Do you both feel better now?"
Callum chuckled. His usual easy smile had returned, a welcome sight after the fury he unleashed in the ring.
"Better? I'm good, brother," he said innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Cain narrowed his eyes. "Right. Of course. Just your regular 'I-love-you-like-a-brother' beatdown."
Callum winked. "Exactly."
Calanthe let out a sigh. "Not even close, skurwielu," she muttered under her breath, riding past them.
Cain glanced at Callum. "That means bastard, right?"
Callum shrugged with a grin. "She says it with love. Usually."
The day passed in relative peace. The road ahead was long but manageable, and the trees shifted gradually from scattered pine and birch to deep woods with moss-thick trunks and hanging ivy. By the next afternoon, as the sun dipped low behind the hills, the trio reached the outer limits of northern Temeria.
A stone outpost overlooked the crossroads. Weathered by time but clearly active, the small keep had guards posted and banners fluttering in the breeze—the blue-and-white sigil of Temeria stamped cleanly across the cloth.
Cain slowed as they approached, noting the look in the eyes of the guards. Tired. Alert. Suspicious.
One stepped forward, hand on hilt.
"State your business."
Cain pulled back his hood, revealing the pale hair, golden eyes, and Witcher medallion around his neck.
"Cain of the White Frost. Seeking lodging and commissions. My companions are spell-trained and blade-tested."
The guard gave a short nod. "Speak with Captain Farwin inside. He handles contracts. Stable's down the slope."
They dismounted and made their way in.
The keep's interior was modest but efficient. Maps, bounty boards, and supply lists lined the walls. A black-haired man with sharp features and the demeanor of a career soldier looked up from a scroll.
"Witchers? Gods be good," he muttered. "We've been needing help. Come in."
He gestured them toward the war table. Cain saw the spread of parchment—not just bandit sightings and skirmishes, but strange markings, livestock mutilations, and alchemical residue.
"We have five open commissions," Captain Farwin said. "Two are local beasts. One's a swamp hag we thought dead. Fourth is a missing alchemist. Last is a... well, something unnatural near the old temple ruins."
Cain pulled out a charcoal stick and sketched a quick map. "Mark the locations. We'll investigate."
Callum stepped up beside him. "Any pay upfront?"
Farwin snorted. "Only if you come back with limbs still attached."
They split up from there to scout the area, each handling different angles of intelligence.
Cain wandered through the local herbalist markets, chatting with shopkeepers and inspecting the quality of ingredients. His eyes scanned signs of rot, glyphs hidden in packaging, and whispered rumors of cursed soil.
He picked up a few rare reagents: Frostmint Sprigs, Drake's Root, and a jar of Moonfish Salts. Enough to refill his bombs and tweak a few oils. He stored the supplies in his inventory with ease.
[Inventory Updated]
Frostmint Sprigs x3
Drake's Root x2
Moonfish Salts x1
Silver Shard Oil Refill (50%)
Calanthe, meanwhile, visited the local scriptorium—a converted shrine now dedicated to storing magical records. She bartered for scrolls and rumors with a grizzled archivist, learning that a wandering mage had recently passed through seeking fragments of an old Elder Blood relic. She pocketed a note bearing his last known location.
Callum went to the tavern.
It wasn't just for drink. He played cards, swapped stories with mercs, and gathered coin with small bets. But more importantly, he listened. Soldiers always talked when they drank. And from their rambling, he confirmed that the missing alchemist had been spotted just two nights ago near the Temple Hollow.
By the time night fell, they reunited in the Stone Bell Tavern, a sturdier building just outside the keep's northern wall. It was quiet but clean, the fire warm and the stew decent.
Cain was already seated with a bottle uncorked when the twins arrived. He looked up, nodding.
"Well?"
Callum pulled out a pouch. "Thirty crowns, a lead on our missing alchemist, and I learned two drinking songs I wish I hadn't."
Calanthe set a scroll beside her mug. "A rogue mage might be trying to track down something tied to the Elder Blood."
Cain exhaled. "That can't be a coincidence."
He pulled out his own findings. "Several alchemists here are treating burns and mutations. Something's leaking into the water supply. The ingredients match rituals tied to forest necromancy."
Calanthe took a sip of her wine. "So we have a corrupted forest, a missing alchemist, and a rogue mage."
"And one very curious Witcher," Cain added.
Callum raised his mug. "Here's to work."
They clinked cups.
And outside, the wind howled faintly through the hills.
The night was just beginning.