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[PR: Ash]

Firelight from the torch cast shadows upon the wall. Shadows that danced in the dark.

“You sure Roy can do this, Geralt? It’s been three days, and still we’re receiving no news. That bald tyrant’s men are getting more brutal with their punishment. I thought we’d be skinned alive.” Yurga leaned on the wall of the prison, gulping down a Potion of Minor Healing. A cool sensation soothed the wounds and pain on his back. The merchant closed his eyes in enjoyment.

“Let me put it this way.” Geralt stared at the corridor outside his prison, and a sense of frustration welled in his heart, like some kind of unknown future was going to descend upon them. With slight trepidation, he said, “From the day I knew him, he’s never let me down. He’s been creating miracles time and time again.”

Yurga smacked his pot belly and smiled. He joked, “Good to hear. Looks like we’ll have to plan for our future after leaving this godforsaken place. Maybe we’ll have sunny days and Goldencheeks will be pickling the greens or drying the fish. Hey, that count as the Law of Surprise too? Oh, I have to prepare something for Roy too. Please, gods, let him not invoke the Law of Surprise.” Yurga had a mischievous look in his eyes. “I’ll just give him one of my sons. The fact he can bust us out of this place is testament of his skill. I bet he can train the kid into a good man.”

“We might have to wait for a bit before we get back to your place, Yurga. I need to find someone,” Geralt interrupted, the nervousness squeezing his heart tighter.

“Who? Your daughter?”

“No—”

“Geralt. Yurga.” A soldier opened the steel door and approached the two of them, hollering. There was disappointment in his eyes. “Lucky bastards. I don’t know how you befriended the doctor, but she convinced Ritt to let you go. Now take your medallions and shirt. Time to meet your savior.”

“Geralt. You were right. We’re saved. Are you a seer or something?” Yurga was prancing around happily.

A doctor? The White Wolf’s trepidation worsened by a bit. Who could it be?

***

“So, how does freedom feel, mate?” The witchers exchanged a hug, filling the air with dust and the stench of sweat. Roy looked at the White Wolf. His stubble was unkempt, his cheeks were sullied with blood, and he had dark circles under his eyes. Roy thought, Man, he gets locked up wherever he goes.

Geralt smiled at his companion thankfully.

“How did you do it, Roy?” The merchant—wearing nothing but strips of silk—gripped Roy’s left hand and simpered, his face wrinkling up. The sweat on his hand was forming a film that glistened under the sun. “I thought the lord and his deputy for security affairs were going to kill us.”

“I talked sense into them. They’ll clear your name soon.”

“And who is she?” Geralt turned his eyes to the window of the office, where a silhouette stood with her back turned to him. She was tall, lithe, and beautiful despite her slightly masculine outfit. She was silent and serene as a tree. Geralt felt like he just walked into a patch of old woods just by looking at her.

He tasted the scent of grass, trees, and the refreshing fragrance of mint and button grass coming from her. The woman then turned around, revealing her beautiful, pale, and gaunt face. She looked a bit like Geralt, and if he didn’t know better, the White Wolf would think he was looking into a mirror. She had green eyes, and they shone with shock, tenderness, and relief.

Geralt wished she would show one more emotion. The one he wanted to see. The one she was holding back. The White Wolf’s pupils dilated for a moment, and he froze, his heart skipping a beat.

Roy covered Yurga’s mouth so Geralt and Visenna could have some time alone. He then dragged the merchant out of the office and looked at Geralt and Visenna before closing the door.

Gryphon the Chipmunk swayed its bushy tail and scurried down its master’s cloak. It snuck into the corner of the office and listened in on the conversation.

***

Silence fell upon the office, leaving only the sounds of breathing and fast heartbeats ringing out in the air. A tall, white-haired witcher stared at his mother, a beautiful, serene doctor. There was little distance between them. One step, and they could hold each other, but neither of them spoke.

There was something almost agonizing brewing in the air.

“You saved me?”

“Just lent a little hand. It was your friend who did most of the talking. He came up with the perfect plan and convinced the deputy of security affairs to change his mind,” said the woman, her voice sweet and clear. It was so different from the old, raspy, and cold voice of what Geralt imagined would come out of his mother.

From the moment he saw this woman, he knew she was his mother. The one he’d spend many years thinking of. His throat started to itch, so he coughed. “You saved me, nonetheless.”

“They interrogated you?” Visenna’s face fell, and she checked on her son. She raised her hand, trying to touch him, but then she put her hand down. “Your lungs. They’re hurt. You need treatment.”

“No.” Geralt shook his head, looking at his mother coldly. “I’ll heal in a week. This isn’t much. You know witchers have to go through a lot of mutations when they’re still children. Viruses, bacterial infections, all the good stuff. I survived those. Well, I was one of those who survived. Seven out of ten died. I was lucky. This is nothing compared to that.”

There was a complaint within that. An unspoken complaint. Visenna froze and went a shade whiter.

“Still, you saved me.” Geralt looked deadpan. He had no idea what kind of look he should put on. “Thank you for your help, lady. May I know your name?”

“Visenna,” she said honestly.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Lady Visenna.” Geralt’s voice was starting to crack a bit.

Visenna wanted to talk about how much this event was a coincidence, but she swallowed her words and stayed silent. With a little self-depreciation seeping into his voice, he sharply said, “You generously lent a hand to an evil, filthy mutant you’ve never met in your life. How should I thank you?”

“Please don’t say that. You know witchers are no filthy beings. And don’t talk to me about that.” Visenna turned around and took a deep breath. When she turned back again, she calmed down, the look in her eyes as serene as the morning woods. “I will lend a hand to those who need it. No exceptions. That’s how I live.”

She looked at the scar spanning from the left of Geralt’s forehead to his left ear. Gently, she said, “Witchers are stronger than regular humans, but that doesn’t mean they’re invincible. You have to keep yourself safe and stay away from danger as much as you can.”

Geralt let a rush of air out and stared at Visenna for a few moments. “Thank you for your concern. Really.”

And then he found a hole in her answer. Finally, he could vent his years of repressed rage and sorrow. “But I have a question. You claim to lend a hand to those who need it, but why didn’t you come to Kaer Morhen when I was crying myself to sleep after days and days of arduous training? So I’m worth less than a stranger to you?”

A wave of memories crashed and screamed in Geralt’s mind.

You’re different, Geralt. All the kids had their mothers by their side until they were about eight. They were only handed over because the Law of Surprise was invoked. However, your mother abandoned you when you were just a child, and she’s a sorceress who has more money than most humans can ever dream of.

“No, Geralt. I…” Visenna shook her head, trying to argue.

A smirk curled Geralt’s lips, and he pointed at his eyes. “What do you think of my eyes? Got them in Kaer Morhen after all the mutations I went through. Look at them. Tell them what you can see in them.”

“Enough, Geralt! Enough!”

The druid’s loss of composure was the last straw. Geralt had had enough of his mother’s neglect. He had enough of repressing his rage, and he asked the question that had been haunting him for years. “Fine. We can skip the other questions, but answer me this: why did you leave me at Kaer Morhen? Vesemir told me he didn’t invoke the Law of Surprise. You owed him nothing.”

A tear fell down the druid’s cheek like rainwater drenching the surface of a pearl. “Enough, Geralt. Do not ask any further, I beg you,” she answered gently, her voice almost ethereal as the clouds. “The answer you seek will do nothing but hurt the both of us.” I am a failure of a mother. I abandoned my child, and no matter the reason, I must be punished. I am not worthy of forgiveness, nor should I seek it out.

Geralt continued, his mother’s almost indifferent attitude hurting him, “I know a sorceress. She’s not even ninety, but because of Aretuza’s blasted rules, she can never have her own children. She’d do anything to have the ability to conceive. Killing a green dragon, capturing a djinn… Almost died a few times, but still she could not conceive. Children are gifts from Destiny herself.” Geralt asked, “So why did you abandon yours?”

“I need to leave, Geralt. My patients await me. Please, take care.” Visenna wiped her tear away and draped her cloak over her shoulders.

She tried to go around Geralt, but he held her arm. Her skin was as soft and smooth as a young lady’s. Visenna quaked, but she didn’t struggle. Instead, she turned her head away, afraid to see her own child’s face. Afraid to see the hatred in his eyes.

Geralt noticed tears glistening in her eyes. “I’ve always wondered what I should ask you should we meet. Wondered how you would react. I thought I’d glean some sort of satisfaction from this revenge, but no. The fact that you cry for me means you’re at least not a heartless mother. At least you still think of me.”

Geralt saw through her, and she almost sobbed. Of course mothers loved their children, especially sorcerers who had long lives. Aside from family, everything else would rot before them. In the end, only their loneliness would remain. She did everything she could to save the helpless so she could perhaps fill the cracks in her heart, stifling the guilt that would wash over her mind during sleepless nights.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to find Geralt. She was worried if she might find her son already dead in battle. He was cursed with the fate of being a witcher because of her, and she didn’t deserve forgiveness for that. Yet she had one humble wish. She knew that she perhaps had one surviving member of her family somewhere out there, and she prayed for him always.

“I can guess why you left me with Vesemir even without you saying it.” Geralt paused for a moment, staring at his mother’s face. If he didn’t say what he wanted to say, he might never get this chance again. “It was because of my father, Korin, wasn’t it?”

Korin. She was reminded of a strong, blond swordsman. Thunderstruck, her eyes went wide, and she leaned closer to Geralt, losing a bit of her strength.

Geralt held her, albeit a little stiffly, not unlike a boy who wanted to protect his mother. He told Visenna what Roy told him, and it too was a message to comfort himself. “Before he died, Korin saw the prophecy of a white-haired witcher slaying monsters across the land. The phantom told him that his name was Geralt of Rivia. You loved Korin, and you thought that was a guide from Destiny. From that moment on, you decided what you would do with the child in your belly. Witchers, sorcerers, and druids believe in the power of Destiny. We know how powerful it is.”

Visenna tried to say something, but she kept quiet and relaxed herself. She buried her face in his shoulder, tears drenching his shirt and armor. For that moment, she was but a vulnerable woman.

“Destiny separated us, and now it brings us back together.”

The tears Visenna shed had the answers Geralt had been searching for. “I thought I’d feel happy seeing you heartbroken, but I too share your sadness, for I still think of you as kin. If you truly have lost all affection for me, you would not have saved me, nor would you have agreed to this meetup and interrogation. Thank you, Visenna.”

Geralt looked at the sobbing woman, and a sliver of warmth seeped into his tone as he eased up. “Now I know that aside from Vesemir, my comrades, and my lover, there’s another one out there who cares for me, and she’s my mother.”

Geralt was reminded of the few cases he interfered. The princess of Vizima who was cursed to be a monster, a man by the name of Nivellen who shared the same fate… Love is the only thing that can lift curses, pain, and bridge the gap between estranged family members. A smile curled Geralt’s stiff countenance, and tears streamed down his cheeks. “You are forgiven, Visenna. Forgiven.”

Visenna let herself go and cried her heart out. Finally, after decades of separation, mother and son were reunited, sharing a long-overdue hug.

The chipmunk swayed its bushy tail and scurried out of the window.