The town of Fislo.
A tall figure draped in a black cloak, his features obscured, slowly approached the town entrance.
His steps were unhurried, but each one conveyed a sense of weight and steadiness. Though he had done nothing, the dangerous aura emanating from him was still palpable.
The two soldiers at the gate instinctively swallowed at the sight of the slightly terrifying cloaked figure. One looked up at the archers on the wooden town wall, which gave him a little courage, and moved to stop the figure and question him. But before he could approach, the cloaked figure raised his head slightly. The moment the soldier saw his eyes, he immediately called to his companion to hurry and make way. Only after the figure had entered the town and gone some distance did the other soldier ask quietly, "What was that about? Who was that guy?"
"That... that guy was a witcher! When he raised his head, I saw those orange-yellow cat eyes. What a monster!"
The soldier who had been frightened off by the witcher was still somewhat shaken.
"That's the first time I've ever seen a witcher. No wonder people call them monster slayers. He really was pretty scary."
The other soldier, by contrast, was rather interested in witchers, and the two began chatting about amusing witcher stories to pass the time...
Meanwhile, Kharkov continued walking quietly along Fislo's narrow streets, trying not to attract attention. Before long, he reached the walls of the inner keep. Like the outer keep, it had wooden walls, with soldiers guarding the gate and archers as well.
Seeing someone approach the inner keep's entrance, a guard was about to call out to stop him when Herbert's voice came from behind him before he could speak.
"I know who he is. Let him straight in."
As Kharkov watched the slowly rising gate and the guards around it, a barely perceptible glint of ruthlessness flashed in his eyes.
"You came earlier than I expected." Herbert's voice sounded weak. "Relax, Kharkov. I won't try anything underhanded with you. I've come to terms with things over the years. Often, we simply cannot defy fate..."
Looking at Herbert, who seemed to have somewhat resigned himself, Kharkov offered no words of comfort and merely followed him silently into the castle.
The castle's first floor served as the basic living area, while the second housed the servants and other personnel. The third floor was Herbert's workspace, and only the fourth housed Herbert and his family. Soldiers guarded the stairway entrances on every floor. The soldiers lived in the basement, while those on duty stayed in dormitories near their posts.
Kharkov left his leather armor and weapons in the room temporarily assigned to him, briefly straightened his clothes, and headed for Herbert's reception room. It was growing late, and when he reached the third-floor reception room, he found everything already prepared. A dark red velvet tablecloth covered the long table, and several bright candles stood in silver candlesticks. The table was laden with sumptuous food: a whole suckling pig roasted golden and crisp, fragrant beef stew, freshly baked bread, and assorted fruit and cheeses. The wineglasses were filled with dark red wine that gave off a rich aroma.
Herbert and his family had not yet arrived. Kharkov stood at the window with his back to the door, gazing out into the night. His figure looked particularly heavy in the candlelight, as though bearing an invisible burden. Hearing footsteps, Kharkov turned and saw Herbert, his wife, and their three children. Herbert wore a faint, tired smile. "Kharkov, you're here."
Kharkov said nothing, merely inclining his head in response. Herbert then invited everyone to sit. As the host, Herbert naturally took the head of the table. Kharkov alone sat to his left, while to his right sat his wife Maya, followed by his eldest son Jace, his eldest daughter Mel, and finally his younger son Yavi. At that moment, Yavi was utterly overwhelmed by Kharkov, for this was his first time seeing a living, breathing witcher. Kharkov's tawny cat eyes with their vertical pupils, in particular, stirred an instinctive fear in Yavi. Though Kharkov simply sat there doing nothing, Yavi could still sense how terrifying he was.
Jace and Mel had met Kharkov before and were therefore not nearly as surprised. Once they could begin eating, the two simply tucked into their food.
Kharkov paid no attention to Yavi's gaze and began eating in great mouthfuls. He was particularly fond of the beef stew, and after he polished off a bowl in no time, the attendant behind him served him another.
During the meal, Herbert spoke to Kharkov from time to time, asking about the situation in countries beyond Kovir. Kharkov also shared a few amusing stories from his travels. The atmosphere at the table was relaxed and harmonious, and everyone frequently raised their glasses, enjoying the conversation.
At midnight, flames blazed in the fireplace of Fislo Castle's reception room. The firewood crackled softly, and the warm firelight drove away the night's chill. Herbert and Maya sat around the fireplace, cradling steaming cups of tea, its fragrance filling the air. Kharkov sat in the flickering firelight without a word.
Herbert took a small sip of tea and broke the silence with a grave expression. "Kharkov, that plan you mentioned earlier... we've given it careful thought. Though we hate to part with him, we also understand that Yavi cannot escape his fate. If letting him go with you is his only way forward, then we... are willing to accept it."
Maya's hands trembled slightly, sending ripples across the tea in her cup. She lowered her head, struggling to suppress her reluctance to part with him and her worry. Her voice was soft, but slightly choked. "Kharkov, Yavi is still so young. Can he really bear all of this? We... we just want him to be safe."
"Madam... I can't guarantee anything, but I promise I'll do everything I can." Looking at a heartbroken mother, Kharkov gave his promise to do all he could.
"Thank you, Kharkov. Though everyone says you witchers are unfeeling, I know you're not that sort of person. Thank you..." Maya bowed deeply to Kharkov to express her gratitude for his promise to do everything he could.
"Ah... your ancestor Arthur Morgan was an old acquaintance of mine. Before he died, he entrusted me with looking after his descendants. By all rights, I shouldn't be so unyielding over Yavi, but this child is different... I noticed it the first time I met him."
Herbert and Maya exchanged a glance before Herbert asked, somewhat puzzled, "Yavi certainly is an unusual child. It was the first time I'd ever seen a newborn with something in his mouth. Unfortunately, his birthstone exploded!"
"It's not just that. What's truly special is the boy himself. This child was born with magic."
Herbert's pupils contracted sharply. "You mean Yavi is..."
The blazing flames in the fireplace and the crackling firewood drowned out their late-night whispers...