White Wolf and the Fox

“You couldn’t have known, Vesemir,” Geralt protests. “You had no idea things would turn out this way. We all knew she would be fine, we were so proud of her.”

The silver haired Witcher stands and joins his mentor at the window. “Any of us could have said no, we could have stopped the experiments. But we didn’t. This is on all of us, if you want to place blame that far back.”

Vesemir stays silent, the minutes passing slowly. “She was mine though.”

Geralt shifts, the silence stretching as he waits for the older Witcher to speak.

“I should have protected her, I had a duty to protect her,” Vesemir sighs, running a hand over his face. “I should have known better. Especially once she came out different. She had different magic, her eyes were silver; that should have been the first sign things weren’t the same.”

“How were you to have known?” Geralt asks gently. “The magicians didn’t know, and they were the ones doing all of the experiments and the research. And besides, she was Leto, she was your Wolf, everyone wanted her to succeed. She was- is- all of ours.”

“I know, pup,” Vesemir uses the nickname he normally reserves for new, scared initiates. “But I still can’t help but feel responsible for what’s happened.”

The conversation dies off, Geralt having no response for the guilt that Vesemir shoulders, that they all shoulder. He stands in silence, watching out the window with his mentor as they grieve the loss of their sisters, the loss of their friends.

**~*~*~*~**

“Elliya!” Zane cries, trying to get the Witcher’s attention as she attacks a village. Can’t let her kill anymore than she has. Need to draw her away. He and Illja exchange glances, hardening their faces and their hearts as the woman turns to face them, a snarl on her face.

“Have you come to be enlightened?” Elliya asks, staring down at the two Witchers as she ignores the panicked villagers running away behind her. “Have you finally realized your true calling?”

“Elliya, please. This isn’t you,” Zane pleads, watching as Illja circles to the side to try and cut their sister off. “You’re ill, please let us help you.”

The Witchers are loath to kill their sisters, but realize it may be the only option. Still, they have to try to save them, to know that they are truly irredeemable before they are forced to kill one of their own. They flinch as they hear the maniacal laughter burst from their sister, madness flashing in her eyes.

“Help me?” Elliya asks with a sneer. “Help me? You can’t help me. You’re here to kill me, you’re here to kill my sisters. I’ve heard what you have been doing, Witchers.”

Zane’s heart falls at the words, pain lancing through his chest. “We want to help you,” he whispers. “We don’t know how. We can’t let you keep killing the humans, though. They don’t deserve what you’re doing.” “They’re murderers,” Elliya hisses, eyes alight with madness and rage. “They’re killing the earth, killing everything. They need to be eradicated.” “Why?” Zane pleads, trying to get through to his sister. “Why, though? Some are doing that, yes. But think of the others! Just yesterday, I saw a human helping a bird who had a broken wing.” “The minority,” Elliya scoffs. “The majority are killing this earth and everything on it, they need to die in order for everything else to survive.” She shifts her grip on her sword, prowling closer. “You fail to see the light, and for this, you must die.”

“Elliya, please,” Zane tries one more time, slowly lifting his sword as his sister shifts. “You don’t have to do this.

“I have no other choice,” Elliya’s voice goes flat before she launches herself at Zane and the other Witcher with him, going for the kill strike.

Zane dances backwards, hardening his heart for what he has to do next. Every sister who has come back to themself has begged us to kill them. We’re only doing what we must, there’s no way to help them. I wish there was.

The Witcher falls silent as he throws himself into the deadly dance, Illja trading off with him when they need a break. He cries out in pain as Elliya gets through his defences, a shallow cut along his bicep seeping through his sleeve as he takes a step back while Illja tries to get behind their sister.

Elliya falters as she hears Zane’s cry, guilt flashing through her eyes as her bitter lemon and cedar scent softens. “Zane?” she whispers, staring at the Witcher.

“It’s me,” Zane says softly, lowering his sword somewhat as recognition flashes in Elliya’s eyes. “It’s me, it’s your brother. I’m here.” “I- I- I don’t know what’s happening,” Elliya stammers, bringing a hand to her forehead as she screws her face up in pain. “Zane, what’s happening?” “It’s okay,” Zane soothes, slowly approaching his sister, heart aching as he sees pain on her face. “It’s okay, I’m right here. Let me help you, Elliya.”

Elliya stares at Zane, cocking her head as she seems to listen to something no one else can hear. The male Witcher continues to creep closer, keeping up a soothing stream of reassurance. Right as he gets within arms reach Elliya’s expression changes, her face going dead as rage and madness flares in her eyes. “Liar!” she hisses before gasping as Illja drives his sword through her chest from behind. Her golden eyes clear as he lowers her to the ground, Zane coming forward to cup her cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” Zane whispers brokenly, tears trailing down his cheeks as Illja pulls his sword out and holds Elliya in his lap.

“Sleep, sister,” Illja rumbles sadly, arranging her so she’s laying comfortably as he holds her close. “We’ll stay with you. You can rest now.” “Thank you,” Elliya breathes, slowly going limp in her brother’s arms. “Thank you. Tell the others it’s not- it’s not- we don’t want…”

Zane leans forward, listening carefully to his sister’s words before letting out a sob as her eyes go glassy and she lets out a soft sigh. He bends over her as her head falls limp to the side, Illja curling around her body as he cries.

“We had to,” Zane whispers, holding tight to Illja as they mourn their sister. “We had to. She was suffering, she didn’t want to do this. We had to do this, Illja.” Illja nods, gripping Zane’s shoulder as he takes comfort in the fact that they were able to save Elliya, even though it was through death.

**~*~*~**

Ifera sits in a tree, watching as the Witchers prowl through the forest looking for her. Amateurs. She shakes her head as they bumble around, making all sorts of noise. How did they ever think they were going to catch me, much less a monster, if everyone can hear them coming from miles away?

She jumps down from her perch on the branch, listening to the soft whispers in her mind. I can see now, it’s all become so clear. The humans are a plague, they’re destroying our world. They hunt and kill and destroy, they need to be eradicated. Ifera prowls after the Witchers on silent feet, pulling her swords out as she follows. She follows them into a darker part, listening to the soft, sweet voice that whispers to her.

“Witchers,” she calls sweetly, nearly laughing as they spin to face her while their hands jump to their weapons. “Oh, you poor darlings. Did I sneak up on you and scare you?” “Ifera,” the dark haired Witcher calls to her, a pleading tone in his voice. “Please, let us help-”

Ifera cuts him off with a sharp gesture, shaking her head. “Don’t even start,” she growls softly. “I’ve heard what you’ve all been doing to our sisters. Hunting us down like cattle, killing us one by one. You’re not here to help, you’re here to kill me. Don’t try to pretend.” “It’s not like that,” the other Witcher pleads, blonde hair reflecting the sunlight. “We’re your family, Ifera, we don’t want to do this. But you can’t keep on like this.” “And why not?” Ifera prowls forward, letting her sword drag on the ground. “The humans are killing everything else. You’ve seen how the world has changed since they’ve grown so far.” Kill them all, take them out. Let us run free, where we don’t have to hide. There’s nothing good left in the humans, they destroy everything they touch.

The blonde Witcher falters, clearly at a loss for words from her question. “Ifana-” he starts, but she cuts him off as she leaps at him, sword raised. “Fuck off,” Ifera growls, sword bouncing off the Witcher’s as she pursues him. “You don’t understand, you’ll never understand. I have to do this.” “Why?” The dark haired Witcher demands, darting in to catch her sword when the blonde Witcher trips. She growls in frustration, just wanting to ignore the questions.

“Because,” Ifera cries, swiping randomly at the Witcher, Andrezj, her mind suddenly supplies, to try and get rid of his questions. She falters slightly as the name appears, taking a moment to recover. The whispers increase in intensity, sudden guilt warring with the chaotic rage that's a constant in her chest and she shakes herself, trying to rid the emotions.

Andrezj takes advantage of her momentary distraction, darting forward and landing a blow on her shoulder. Ifera lets out a yell of pain, the scent of copper filling the air as she leaps backwards and lets out a growl.

“You’ll pay for that,” she resumes her circling, switching hands on her sword as pain runs down her arm. “You won’t leave this place alive.” Andrezj and the blonde Witcher exchange glances but stay silent, Ifera letting out a growl of frustration at that. She jumps forwards, throwing herself back into the battle and stepping forward and stabbing at the blonde one's stomach. Her sword is knocked away before Andrezj steps in and she finds herself on the defensive, frustration continuing to grow. She can feel the blood dripping down her arm, the scent of copper mixing with the fear scent of rust in the air. She growls happily at the scent before startling as her heart rate increases, realizing the fear is coming from her. What?

Ifera’s eyes widen at the realization and she stumbles again, fatigue and pain dragging at her limbs. No, I won’t submit. They’re wrong, I’ve seen the light. Humans are a plague. Aren’t they? She gets lost in her thoughts again, the tip of her sword slowly drifting towards the ground. This is the right thing to do. It is. Memories of laughing and playing with her brothers, with Andrezj, suddenly burst into her mind from a long forgotten place, and she raises her eyes to see Andrezj and Viktor in front of her.

“Help,” the whisper falls from her lips, Ifera feeling her legs go out from under her. She doesn’t register the pain that jolts up her legs as she hits the ground, hands flying to her forehead as the whispers war with the memories flooding her mind. “It’s okay, Ifera, we’re both here,” she feels Viktor’s arms go around her, supporting her as she fights with herself. She leans heavily into him, his bright cedar and cinnamon scent filling her nose. My brothers. My brothers are here. They can help me. Oh gods, what have I done? I’m supposed to protect, not kill.

Ifera lets out a sob, looking up at Viktor with terrified eyes as the scent of her fear increases in strength. She clings to him weakly with one hand, feeling Andrezj bracket her other side as his ginger and cedar scent fills her nose.

“Please, kill me,” Ifera begs, feeling Viktor shush her and slowly rock her as he rumbles soothingly. “No, please, you don’t understand. I can’t fight it.” She feels the soothing rumble turn to one of concern, burnt caramel worry mixing with her brothers’ scents. “You can’t fight what, Ifera?”

“The voices, the presence, please,” Ifera can feel herself start to slip, the familiar feeling of darkness taking over. She writhes in Viktor’s arms, clinging to him before ripping herself out of his arms.

Andrezj lets out a startled shout as he’s knocked backwards, surprise turning to concern as Ifera grabs for her sword. She turns her gaze on them, a mixture of apology and madness flitting behind her eyes. She stands with her blade in hand, emotions draining away as she watches her brothers scramble for their swords.

“I’m sorry,” Ifera whispers as she raises her sword before turning the blade on herself, pain blooming as she opens her throat. She feels her knees go out again, the pain quickly turning to cold as she collapses to the ground. She doesn’t hit though, Andrezj catching her and pulling her into his arms as tears slide down his cheeks.

It’s okay. She tries to smile at him, raising a shaky hand to her brothers’ cheeks. She doesn’t notice the bloody fingerprints she leaves on their skin, eyes starting to fall shut as she grows tired. I did it for you. I did it to keep everyone safe. I’m so tired. I’m safe now, I don’t have to listen anymore. I won.

The last thing Ifera feels is a sense of satisfaction as the world starts to grow dark, her brothers’ scents in her nose. A warmth cradles her as she starts to go limp, listening to the soft cries from her Witchers before she feels no more.

**~*~*~**

Issori, Jaka, Iona, Charenthi, Fissa. Alek crosses the names off with a heavy heart, marking each funeral pyre that burns. “There’s so many names,” he whispers, staring at the list. “Too many,” Kamil agrees softly, closing his eyes from where he sits in his chair. “How many are left?” “Not many,” Alek replies, glancing at where Vesemir stands with his back to them, having stood motionless at the window since the council members gathered. “All of the parties are out, they should be back soon. We’ll burn our last pyres within the month, hopefully.” “We still don’t know what’s causing this?” Natan asks, looking around the room at the other senior Witchers. “No,” Kamil shakes his head, sighing softly. “Tissai and I have been over everything we can think of, all we know is that it’s connected to something with their magic. They embody the chaos, rather than harness it. Something happens when they do that, but no one else has used magic the way they do, so we can’t know for sure what is happening.”

“It will be over soon,” Alek nods, running a hand through his hair. “And we won’t put any more girls through the trials.” “We never should have in the first place,” Vesemir’s voice is low when he speaks, the Witcher not turning from the window. “I never should have let this happen.” “Vesemir, you couldn’t have known,” Natan says immediately, shaking his head. “We had no idea they would be any different than us, that this would happen.” “I should have seen it with Leto, when she changed,” Vesemir finally turns away from the window, looking at the other Witchers with pained eyes. “I raised her, I knew her. I knew she was different after the trials, after she learned her powers, and I didn’t intervene.” I never should have let her go through the Trials in the first place. Gods, what was I thinking? Our sisters’ deaths are all on my hands.

“She was following the Path, everyone changes,” Natan says gently. “You’ve seen what Witchers look like when they come back from their first few years, everyone changes regardless of male or female.”

“I knew her though,” Vesemir whispers. “I raised her, she was mine. I knew her better than anyone else, I should have known that something was wrong, more so than just being on the Path.” “No one could have known,” Alek says softly, not sure what else to say to help the guilt that is clear in Vesemir’s frame. “You couldn’t have known.” “It’s too late now,” Vesemir murmurs wearily, turning back to the window. “She’ll face the same fate as her sisters.” “You don’t have to be the one to go,” Natan says, reopening the weeks old debate. “She’s your daughter, Vesemir, you don’t have to do this. One of us will go.” “I trained her myself, it has to be me,” Vesemir shakes his head. “She won’t let anyone else close enough, I taught her too well.”

“At least let someone go with you,” Natan pushes. “Take Geralt, take someone. Don’t go alone.”

“Alright,” Vesemir gives in, knowing that he’ll be followed regardless of his decision. “I’ll take Geralt with me, but no one else. She won’t trust us if there’s others with us.” “Thank you,” Natan says softly, making a note to go speak with Geralt. “It’s better with two. Just in case.” We’ve lost too many already. We need our Chief to lead us through this. “I know,” Vesemir nods, settling his hands at his back as he watches the initiates train below. “I know.” The council takes the dismissal for what it is, slowly filing out of the room. Natan pauses for just a moment, glancing at Vesemir before going to find Geralt. He needs to go. Leto was Vesemir’s pride, it’s going to destroy him to have to kill her.

Natan finds the silver haired Witcher out on the ramparts, where he would often go as an initiate. “Vesemir is going to bring you with him,” he says softly, coming to lean his elbows on the stone as he stands next to the younger Witcher.

“I thought he would take me,” Geralt nods, continuing to look out over the Trail. “He won’t take anyone else.” “He wanted to go by himself initially,” Natan replies softly. “I don’t think he’ll come back if he does.” “He won’t,” Geralt shakes his head. “I’ll bring him back, keep an eye on him.” Natan nods at that, sighing under his breath. “I wish he’d let someone else go.” “Not with her,” Geralt murmurs. “He considers this whole thing his fault, our sisters. Leto was the first.” Still remember when she went through her Trials. We were so proud of our little sister. We all should have said something.

“I know,” Natan says, glancing at Geralt. “It’s not your fault either. No one could have known.” “No, but we’re the ones who didn’t see it sooner,” Geralt looks back at the strategic master, gaze serious. “This is on all of us.” “It is,” Natan nods in agreement, before looking back out at the surrounding area. “You make sure you come back as well. We all know you were close with Leto, almost as much as Vesemir.” Geralt smiles grimly at that, looking down at his scarred hands. “She was my little sister, before she was all of ours,” he murmurs, eyes glazing over with memories. “I remember when Vesemir came home with her, she was just a wee little thing.”

“She was,” Natan agrees softly. “She was little, but fierce. Drove us all up the wall, keeping her out of trouble.” “She got into the weapons room and sent everyone into a panic,” Geralt laughs sadly. “We always knew she would be good at this. She was one of the best.”

“Still is,” Natan murmurs. “Be careful, Geralt, okay. Make sure you both come home.” We can’t afford to lose anyone else.

“I will,” Geralt turns a sober gaze on Natan. “I’ll make sure he gets home.” He won’t be the one to kill her, if I can help it. That would destroy him, having to kill his daughter.

“I trust you,” Natan nods, offering the silver haired Witcher a warrior’s handshake before turning and leaving him in peace before he has to leave.

**~*~*~**

Geralt lashes the last few of his bags onto Roach’s saddle, sighing softly as he goes through his list one more time. He waits patiently for Vesemir, glancing at the gathered Witchers around him. Know they all want to come with us, to not have Vesemir have to do this. Vesemir slowly makes his way out of Kaer Morhen, looking straight ahead as he takes his reins from Geralt.

“Everything is packed?” he asks gruffly, mounting his horse.

“Yes, Chief,” Geralt nods, mounting Roach alongside his mentor. “We can go.” “Good,” Vesemir nods, urging his mount towards the gates and down the Path. I’m coming, Leto. I’m sorry, my Wolf. This is all my fault. He focuses on the journey ahead of him, staying silent as Geralt rides at his side in search of his daughter.

**~*~*~**

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