The wind howled low across the trail that curved away from Kaer Morhen's valley, whispering secrets between the stones. Cain pulled his cloak tighter, not from cold, but to shelter the medallion hidden beneath his scarf. His first time walking away from the fortress not as a student, but as a Witcher.
Beside him, Callum matched his stride, their packs light but their pace steady. The snow was melting in places, revealing the jagged earth below, and each step echoed like a drumbeat of something long-awaited.
They said little for the first few hours. There was no need. Silence between them had become comfortable.
Eventually, Callum broke it. "We'll need to pass through Hiltstead. It's a small village under my father's rule. That's... where I was born."
Cain nodded. "And that's where you think your sister might be?"
"Yeah. Calanthe tends to stop in during her travels. She trained under the Brotherhood of Sorcerers before taking her leave. Didn't like being told what to do."
Cain smirked. "Sounds familiar."
Callum grinned but didn't deny it.
"The people there aren't bad," he continued, more subdued now. "But they know what I am. And my father… he made sure they knew. He's not cruel. Just... proud. The wrong kind."
Cain glanced sideways at him. "Will he cause trouble?"
Callum shook his head. "No. He won't start anything. He wouldn't dare. He only gave my mother coin and silence. My sister and I grew up in the village. Calanthe left when her power stirred. I left when the Witchers came. Neither of us got the castle."
Cain let the silence return. He could already imagine the layout: a castle atop a cliff, a disapproving noble, villagers who watched from behind curtained windows, and a sister who may or may not want to be found.
And yet... this was good.
A place to begin.
If he could win over Callum's sister—a trained sorceress, independent and ambitious—he'd gain not just magical support, but a potential ally when the mages eventually fractured. And if her father had political influence, even a sliver of nobility would be useful to have on his side.
He needed threads in the world. This was one.
By midday, they crested a hill, and Cain saw it.
Hiltstead.
A modest valley town, nestled in the arms of sharp hills and old forest. Wooden rooftops, smoke from chimneys, narrow dirt roads turning to mud. Beyond it, on the eastern ridge, rose a squat gray keep — Callum's father's hall.
Callum exhaled. "Still smells the same. Pine and livestock."
Cain took it in slowly. His medallion vibrated faintly, just from the tension in the earth and the old magic that lingered faintly near the eastern cliffs.
"Do we head to the keep first or ask around the village for your sister?"
"Village," Callum said. "If Calanthe's here, she's with the herbalist or the teacher. Not with Father."
They made their way down the winding trail into the village. The people recognized Callum immediately. Eyes widened, whispers followed them. Some offered polite nods, others crossed themselves. A few children watched him like a returning ghost.
A woman waved them over near the well. Wrinkled, with a bent spine but bright eyes. "Callum, lad! Your sister came through just two days ago. Said she'd be at the northern shrine."
Callum smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Tilda. Still sharp as ever."
Cain gave a small bow.
The northern shrine was a half-hour walk from the village's edge, tucked beneath a circle of evergreens. The snow here had melted into soft earth, and the wind carried the scent of herbs and candle wax.
And sitting cross-legged on a stone bench, surrounded by floating orbs of light, was a young woman with long red hair tied into a braid and robes marked with sigils of flame and frost.
Callum smiled. "There she is."
Cain immediately sensed it—the power in the air, restrained but humming. She wasn't just gifted.
She was dangerous.
She looked up.
"Callum?" Her voice rang out, bright and sharp.
Callum stepped forward. "Calanthe. Been a while."
Her expression softened with a smirk. "Still handsome for a mutt."
Cain chuckled quietly.
Calanthe turned her eyes to him. Golden and sharp. "And who's this?"
Cain stepped forward and gave a slight nod. "Cain. Fellow Witcher. Friend."
Her gaze flicked over him like a blade. Then she smiled, genuinely. "You carry yourself like you know the world already. But your eyes say you're still curious. I like that."
Cain said nothing. Her energy wasn't aggressive, but it danced. Testing him.
Callum stepped between them. "We're passing through. Thought maybe you'd let us share a fire."
Calanthe stood. Her aura flared slightly before settling. "Then let's talk. I have news. And it's not just family gossip."
Later that day, as they walked through the village to gather supplies, Cain noticed the stares. Narrowed eyes, sideways glances. A few muttered words under breath.
"Half-elf... and a mutant."
"Dark one too. You can smell the otherworld on him."
Cain said nothing. His jaw remained calm, eyes steady. But Callum heard it.
"Enough," Callum snapped at a pair of merchants. "He's saved more lives in the past month than either of you will in your whole lives. Watch your tongue."
Even Calanthe—cold, composed—paused and added, "Your fear makes you fools. That Witcher could burn you down with a thought. Be grateful he hasn't."
Cain gave a quiet nod of appreciation but still remained quiet.
Instead, he walked to the local notice board.
Several papers flapped lazily in the wind.
"Chimney smoke at night in the abandoned cemetery. Whispering voices."
"Foul beasts devouring livestock. Claw marks like daggers."
"Miner's son vanished by the eastern creek. Only blood left behind."
Cain plucked the first two.
Callum raised a brow. "You're taking work? Already?"
"Best way to earn trust," Cain said. "Results."
[Quest Added: "Cemetery Whispers"] – Rare
[Quest Added: "The Beast in the Barn"] – Normal
Objectives: Investigate cemetery at dusk. Track livestock attacks. Eliminate threats.
Rewards: Coin (Hiltstead Crown Standard), Materials, Reputation Increase
Cain turned to them, his medallion pulsing faintly.
"I'll scout the cemetery tonight. Callum, take the barn trail. We regroup in the morning."
Calanthe crossed her arms, watching him with renewed curiosity.
Cain, the half-elf Witcher, wasn't just enduring the stares. He was already turning them into silence.
And soon, into respect.