"Glug, glug..." Water sounded in Witt's ears as he fell from his cold bed in Kaer Morhen into a deep lake.
Though his eyes were shut, he could feel that his entire body seemed to be immersed in some sort of liquid, with fishlike creatures swimming freely around him.
Witt struggled to open his eyes, but managed only the tiniest slit.
Green, a rich, emerald green, a green that flowed like life.
Where am I? Brokilon?
Vesemir's words had brought Witt back to that lake in his dreams.
Am I lying in the lake?
Perhaps because it was a dream, Witt felt neither the cold nor the suffocation of being submerged. His whole body felt warm and comfortable, as though sunlight were caressing him through the clouds.
"Shh..." It was a lady's voice.
A figure appeared in Witt's dream vision, and the lake water grew livelier as she approached.
The fish became more active, and a breeze swept across the lake alongside flying birds.
Witt wondered, Is she talking to me?
"Shh, Quarixis, I know the child is awake."
Is she... Mother? Witt asked inwardly once more.
Suddenly, a string of words seemed to come from the person the lady had called "Quarixis."
It was a gentle call, a soft chant. Witt could not understand the language, but it felt very familiar, as though he had heard it before.
An inexplicable impulse rose within Witt. He desperately wanted to open his eyes and look at this lady and "Quarixis," though he did not know why.
"I am not only your mother. All living beings are my children," the lady said gently, answering Witt's question.
How is that possible? This is my dream... Witt was startled, his thoughts racing. Am I talking to someone in a dream? Or... have I asked these questions before? Is it a coincidence?
Just as the lady seemed about to answer again, ripples across the lake interrupted her.
"Lady, is he awake?" The newcomer's voice carried a certain authority. It, too, was female.
"What is it, Eithné, my child?" The lady's voice remained endlessly gentle, like a mother infinitely patient with her child.
"An old witcher has come to the forest's border. I wish to give this child to him as payment for the witchers saving my people." Though Eithné's tone was firm, there was a question in it.
An old witcher? Vesemir? Witt thought.
The lady said nothing. Unable to make out what was before him, Witt did not know what "Mother" was doing.
"I am looking at you, my child." Once again, the lady answered the dreaming Witt's question.
After speaking, she seemed to ponder for a moment, then asked, "I see. Then give him to the man outside called Vesemir."
"Lady, how did you know...?" Eithné seemed astonished. She remembered that she had not mentioned the old witcher's name.
"This child told me."
Only now was Witt finally certain that he was speaking with someone who had been in Brokilon eight years ago.
This lady seemed able to cross the solid barrier of time and make contact with Witt as he slept in Kaer Morhen.
"Splash..." Lake water streamed rapidly off Witt's body as a pair of slender, firm hands lifted him.
It was Eithné who had picked him up. Looking at "little Witt," whose eyes were tightly shut and whose face twitched slightly, she said, "Lady, he is not a creation of this nature. Is this truly all right?"
"Eithné, please believe that he is the miracle of Brokilon." With that, the lady walked up to Eithné, lowered her head, and blew a breath onto Witt's face.
A breeze that seemed to have swept across every land in the world brushed Witt's face, waking him from his deep dream.
Witt opened his eyes to a dark vaulted ceiling. He had awakened in Kaer Morhen.
"How is that possible? Am I a child of destiny too? What does 'the miracle of Brokilon' mean?" Witt murmured as he sat up, looking at his hands and feeling the blood flowing inside him.
Suddenly, Witt remembered what the dryad queen Eithné had said: "He is not a creation of this nature..."
"Could I have crossed over with my body during some small-scale Conjunction of the Spheres, rather than being reborn as an ordinary person in the Witcher world?"
Witt's thoughts were tangled. The original books he had read in his previous life had not devoted much attention to Eithné, but as the ruler of Brokilon, surrounded by several human kingdoms, whom would she address with such respect? And a woman, at that?
"Could it be Lady Destiny? But doesn't destiny revolve around Geralt?"
Suddenly, footsteps came within earshot. It was Geralt.
"I'm awake, Geralt." Not wanting his fellow witcher to see his flustered expression, Witt spoke before Geralt could knock.
"Witt, you're awake? Get dressed. It's time for the Trial of the Mountains."
Before long, Witt pushed open the door and stood before Geralt, fully equipped and ready to go. "Let's go," he said calmly.
Geralt raised a hand to stop Witt and said with concern, "Are you all right, Witt? You look a little pale. Didn't sleep well last night? We're in no hurry. You can take some more time to prepare."
Witt had not expected the attentive Geralt to notice the unease beneath his composure, but as he looked at his companion, the panic in his heart seemed to vanish.
He smiled. "I'm fine. I've had enough rest. I just can't wait to become a real witcher."
"Ha! You little brat, already getting full of yourself?" Geralt teased with a laugh as he watched Witt relax.
"Hey! Witt, do you need us to come along?" Eskel came down the stairs as well, his tone entirely sincere.
Lambert, who followed behind him, was another matter entirely. He tilted his head back, pointing his nostrils at Witt. "I don't want to smell Old Speartip's years-old shit again, but if you agree to put me up in Novigrad's best brothel for a week, I could consider it."
"All right, it's hardly such a big deal that all of you need to go." Vesemir's voice came from downstairs.
They exchanged glances and went downstairs, where they found Vesemir standing with his arms folded behind a table holding several bottles of potions.
When he saw them come down, Vesemir nodded to Geralt, who responded with a glance.
"White Raffard's, to heal injuries instantly? Tawny Owl, to boost endurance?" Lambert walked over and handled the potions, naming them and their effects one by one. "And Petri's Philter, to increase Sign intensity! Vesemir, I didn't get this treatment for my Trial of the Mountains! Even when I make these myself, I can't bear to use them!"
"Oh, come on. How many were there in your batch? Now he's the only one we have." Eskel and Lambert bickered as usual.
Witt walked over in silence and hugged Vesemir tightly.
A rarely seen tenderness appeared on the old man's face. He raised a hand and patted Witt's head. "All right, Witt. Go and come back soon."
Then Geralt and Witt picked up the potions, waved goodbye to the three of them, and headed toward a lake near Kaer Morhen, a place they had to pass on the way to the Trial of the Mountains.
Neither spoke along the way. Only when they reached the lake did Geralt, who had been deep in thought for a long time, speak. "What were you thinking about this morning, Witt?"
Looking at Geralt, who cared so much about him, and remembering what had just happened in the main tower, Witt temporarily put last night's dream and all the worries it had spawned about his unknown destiny out of his mind.
He smiled. "I was thinking, fuck destiny."
Geralt smiled too. "Yeah. Fuck destiny."