Chapter 45: THE NIGHTMARES
The screaming started at midnight.
I was out of bed before consciousness fully caught up—twelve years of reflexes honed by road life and Witcher contracts. My feet found cold stone, and I was running before I processed that the screams came from Ciri's room.
I reached her door first.
She was thrashing in her bed, tangled in blankets, eyes rolled back to show only white. Words spilled from her mouth—Elder Speech, ancient and terrible, a language she shouldn't know flowing from her throat like water.
Prophecy. Her blood awakening.
"Ciri!" I grabbed her shoulders, trying to hold her still. Her skin was ice-cold, her muscles rigid with tension. The words kept coming, faster and more frantic.
I sang.
The Calming Melody pushed against whatever gripped her mind—dark power, ancestral magic, the weight of Elder Blood asserting itself in a child who hadn't asked for any of it. I felt resistance, felt the vision trying to hold her, and pushed harder.
Something snapped. Ciri's eyes rolled forward, found mine, and she sucked in a gasping breath.
Then she started sobbing.
I held her while Geralt and Vesemir arrived. Held her while she shook and cried and clutched my shirt like it was the only real thing in the world.
"I saw—" She couldn't finish. Tried again. "I saw—"
"When you're ready." I stroked her hair, keeping my voice steady despite my own racing heart. "Take your time."
She described the vision in fragments.
A black sun rising over a frozen world. White flame consuming cities. Her own face, older, twisted with power she couldn't control.
"I was destroying everything," she whispered. "Everyone was running, screaming, and I couldn't stop. My hands—fire came from my hands, and people burned, and I laughed—"
"That's not you." I kept my voice firm. "Visions show possible futures, not certain ones. The person you saw isn't the person you have to become."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know you." I cupped her face in my hands, making her meet my eyes. "The girl I watched run an obstacle course until she collapsed from exhaustion. The princess who escaped Cintra alone and kept running until she found us. The child who makes terrible tea but gives it anyway because she wants to help."
That drew a weak laugh.
"That girl doesn't destroy worlds. She saves them. And whatever power is awakening in your blood—you'll learn to control it. We'll help you."
Geralt moved to stand beside us. His hand found Ciri's shoulder.
"We don't abandon family," he said. "Whatever you're facing, you face it with us."
Vesemir's assessment was grim.
"Elder Blood is manifesting," he said, once Ciri had finally fallen asleep. We'd gathered in the library—Geralt, Vesemir, and myself. The fire burned low. "The prophecies in her dreams, the Elder Speech—these are signs I've read about but never witnessed."
"Can you train her to control it?" Geralt's voice was tight with barely-suppressed fear.
"No. This isn't swordsmanship or combat reflexes. This is magic—ancient, powerful, beyond anything Witcher training addresses." Vesemir shook his head. "She needs someone who understands chaos. Someone who can guide her through the awakening safely."
"A mage," I said.
"A sorceress, specifically. Someone with the patience for teaching and the power to contain her if things go wrong." Vesemir looked at Geralt. "I know your opinions about the Chapte r, but—"
"Not the Chapte r." Geralt's jaw tightened. "I know someone. Someone I trust."
Yennefer.
I'd been waiting for this moment since we arrived at Kaer Morhen. Knowing it would come, knowing Ciri needed magical training that none of us could provide. But hearing Geralt say the words still made my chest tighten.
The three of us will become four. And everything will get more complicated.
"Who?" Vesemir asked.
"Yennefer of Vengerberg."
The name hung in the air. Vesemir's expression flickered—recognition, concern, calculation.
"I've heard of her. Powerful. Unpredictable. Are you certain she can be trusted with the child?"
"No." Geralt's honesty was brutal. "But I trust her with my life. And there's no one else I'd want teaching Ciri about magic."
I volunteered for nightmare watch.
Someone needed to monitor Ciri's sleep, ready to intervene if the visions returned. Geralt offered, but I convinced him that my songs were more effective than his presence—true, if not the only reason.
I need to think. And I can't do that with him watching.
So I sat outside Ciri's door each night, playing soft melodies to keep her dreams at bay. My fingers found familiar patterns—lullabies I'd composed, gentle songs that wrapped around sleeping minds like blankets.
The exhaustion accumulated. Dark circles under my eyes, tremors in my hands, the constant fog of insufficient rest.
Worth it. Every night without screaming is a victory.
Ciri found me asleep in my chair one morning, slumped against her door. She didn't wake me—just draped a blanket over my shoulders and tiptoed away.
I knew because I heard her footsteps. I'd learned to sleep lightly, alert for any sign of nightmares returning.
That evening, she made me tea.
It was terrible—over-steeped, bitter, somehow both too weak and too strong at the same time. I drank every drop, declaring it delicious.
"You're lying." She smiled despite the accusation. "Your face when you tasted it—"
"I have no idea what you're talking about. This is excellent tea. The best I've ever had."
"You're a terrible liar, Jackier."
"I'm an excellent liar. You're just too smart for my tricks." I set down the empty cup. "But thank you. For the tea, and for the blanket this morning."
She hugged me, and for a moment, the exhaustion didn't matter.
This is why I'm here. This is what matters.
That night, Geralt found me at my post.
He watched Ciri's door for a long moment, then sat down beside me.
"She needs more than we can give her." His voice was rough with something I recognized as fear—fear for the child we both loved, fear of powers none of us understood. "She needs a sorceress."
"I know."
"Yennefer is—" He stopped, started again. "Complicated. But she's the best there is. And she'll love Ciri, once she meets her. I know she will."
"Then we bring her here?"
"We go to her. Spring thaw, when the passes open." He looked at me. "You'll come with us?"
"Did you think I wouldn't?"
Something like relief crossed his face. "I wasn't sure how you'd feel. You and Yennefer—at Rinde—"
"We had a moment of mutual curiosity." I chose my words carefully. "But Ciri matters more than any of that. If Yennefer can help her, then we find Yennefer."
Geralt nodded slowly. Then, unexpectedly, he clasped my shoulder.
"Thank you. For everything you've done this winter. For being here."
"Family sticks together," I said, echoing words I'd spoken to Ciri weeks ago.
He didn't answer, but he didn't need to.
We sat together in the darkness, watching over our daughter's sleep, waiting for spring to bring the sorceress who would change everything.
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