The guesthouse door creaked open to the pale gray hush of dawn. Cain stepped into the chill, pulling his cloak around his shoulders. The scent of night clung faintly to his skin—smoke, wine, and something softer beneath it.
Meressa was already gone.
The fire had long since gone cold.
He took a breath, let it out slow.
As he crossed the cobbled path toward the manor, he spotted Callum leaning against the wall near the fountain, arms folded, face unreadable. Calanthe stood a few paces away, her arms crossed, her posture too stiff for comfort.
Both twins looked at him.
Callum's face remained neutral—blank, observant, offering neither judgment nor invitation.
Calanthe, though—for a flicker of a second, her expression twisted. Anger? Jealousy? Disappointment?
It vanished in a breath.
She smiled.
"Morning," she said sweetly. Too sweet.
Cain gave a nod. "Let's get food. I owe you all something warm."
The kitchen was quiet at first, just the rustle of Cain's sleeves and the soft thud of ingredients hitting the chopping board. He moved efficiently, hands guided by memory and instinct. Eggs, smoked sausage, wild greens, and root vegetables he'd gathered himself the day prior. A pan of roasted mushrooms and garlic sizzled at his side, seasoned with mountain thyme and a touch of apple cider vinegar.
The staff began to trickle in, drawn by the smells. Calanthe and Callum seated themselves nearby, watching with interest. Even the lord of the estate arrived, looking faintly confused at the lack of formal serving but too hungry to complain.
Cain flipped a skillet, plated a dozen servings, and handed them out without ceremony.
[Skill Progression: Cooking (Advanced Proficiency +2%)] [Passive Buff Unlocked: Hearty Hospitality – +1 to Vitality and Morale after preparing a meal for 6+ people]
The dining room filled with chatter, chewing, and satisfied sighs.
Meressa appeared last, hair tied back elegantly, a fresh dress hugging her waist. She moved with the same quiet power as always, but this time when she sat, she made sure to tug her collar slightly to the side, exposing the faint shadow of a hickie just beneath her neck.
Cain nearly dropped a fork.
Calanthe saw it too. Her smirk could have cut glass.
Callum, for his part, said nothing—simply ate, eyes focused on the plate.
Meressa took a bite and smiled across the table. "You cook better than half the court chefs I've suffered under. You should stay a while longer. Perhaps teach the staff how you do it."
Cain shook his head slowly. "Not my calling."
She gave a knowing smile, brushing her hair past her ear again. Deliberate. Calm. Powerful.
Cain looked down at his plate, cheeks warm. That was for him, yes—but also for Lord Halric, who sat chewing the food with forced dignity, eyes trained firmly on his goblet.
After breakfast, Callum leaned back in his chair. "So... where to next?"
Cain set his fork down and leaned on the table. He needed to think.
He closed his eyes and began to mentally retrace the events of the Witcher world. He'd memorized the chronology years ago back in his old life—books, games, even fan maps.
Geralt's tale was still over a decade away from its start.
Which meant...
The rise of tensions between Nilfgaard and Cintra was beginning.
The School of the Cat had gone rogue years ago and might still be active.
The Brotherhood of Sorcerers had not yet become the Lodge, but magical politics were slowly shifting in the north. Fractures in Aretuza's teachings would eventually give way to something darker.
And somewhere, far across the Continent, a young girl with Elder Blood had likely just been born.
Not Ciri.
But Lara Dorren's legacy lived on, and Cain knew he would play a role in how it evolved.
He opened his eyes.
"We should move east," he said slowly. "Toward Temeria. There are whispers of contracts building there, and I want to speak to some of the alchemists in Maribor. Plus... sorcerers will be gathering there soon. You might meet some of your rivals, Calanthe."
She raised an eyebrow. "Rivals? Or allies?"
Cain offered a slight smile. "Let's hope both."
Callum stood. "Sounds good to me. I think we've outstayed our welcome here anyway."
Cain glanced toward Meressa, who was quietly watching him from across the manor's open archway.
Maybe. Maybe not.
But staying too long in one place was never the Witcher's way.
High noon came swiftly. The twins were at the town's edge, horses already saddled, packs secured. Cain moved through the manor one last time, collecting basic supplies—rations, travel coin, spare oils. Most of it he stored in his Inventory, grateful for the enchanted space it offered.
He was just heading to the stables when Meressa caught him near the side path.
"Cain," she said, voice soft but urgent.
She handed him a sealed bundle—letters of contact addressed to names and insignias from all corners of Temeria.
"These people owe me favors. Use them if you need to. For the sake of the twins."
Cain tucked the bundle away. "I would have looked after them even without you asking."
She smiled. Then turned and locked the nearby door behind them.
Her dress fell to the floor. "Good now take care of me"
An hour passed. Meressa Loud moans could be heard outside the door the whole time.
The staff that walked past the locked room said nothing, but many maids blushed and avoided eye contact. Meressa's voice and langue was not subtle.
Cain emerged eventually, straightening his tunic, hair damp and cheeks flushed. He walked briskly toward the town entrance.
Callum and Calanthe were already mounted. Cain's horse was waiting.
"You're late," Calanthe said, eyebrow raised.
Cain was about to climb up when Calanthe slapped the flank of his horse. The beast reared slightly and bolted several paces.
Cain landed hard in the dirt.
Callum struggled not to laugh.
"You better run faster, Cain," Calanthe teased with a smirk. "Or you'll lose track of us."
Cain muttered under his breath "I guess I deserve that", brushing dust from his coat as he jogged after the horse.