The months that passed

In a leveled rectangular space, once filled with a variety of lithophytes, two individuals stood sizing each other up. One, a milky-white-haired man who, despite appearances, moved with supernatural grace and agility, wielded a 40-inch longsword. The other, resembling a human bear, brandished a wooden quarterstaff equivalent to his size. Despite his imposing frame, the latter matched the swordsman's speed and compensated for his lack of grace with sheer brute force.

The two combatants circled each other warily, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, it was the swordsman who lunged forward, his blade flashing in the sunlight. The bear-man easily dodged, his staff whistling through the air as he countered with a powerful blow that sent the swordsman reeling.

However, the swordsman was not easily defeated. Regaining his footing, he launched a flurry of attacks, each faster and more precise than the last. The bear-man grunted with effort as he parried each blow with his staff, but he knew he couldn't keep this up forever. Seizing an opportunity after parrying the last swing, he lunged forward with all his might, aiming for the swordsman's midsection. Yet, it was a feint! Anticipating the move, the swordsman sidestepped at the last moment, delivering a devastating blow to the bear-man's back. Or it would have been devastating for someone with normal skin.

The sword connected, but instead of slicing through, it almost slipped off his opponent's back. Seizing the opportunity, the staff wielder turned around and swung at his aggressor's feet. The swordsman effortlessly leaped over the large swipe; however, as he was mid-flight, his opponent closed the distance in an instant, assuming a low stance and bringing his fist crashing down on the swordfighter's midsection. The white-haired man's complexion paled even further as he braced for the impending impact. Alas, he could do nothing but gather his energy in his stomach, hoping to lessen the blow's impact.

The huge man grinned widely as his fist connected. Suddenly, the world shook, the loose cobblestones beneath their feet trembling as a small quake rippled through the air with energy. The swordsman was flung across the makeshift arena, his body slamming against the hard surface of the opposite wall with a sickening thud.

Slowly drifting towards the ground, he fell on his knees, coughing and wheezing in pain. Stubborn as all hell, like the individuals around them were, he tried to overcome the pain and stand back up. But his body wouldn't let him. His legs were shaking, and his hands felt like sponges. Finally, he realized what had happened and cast a surprised glance at his adversary. Atram approached him and put his boulder like hands on his shoulders.

A wave of all-too-familiar energy coursed through Geralt's body, easing all his pains and aches in seconds. He grasped Atram's extended arm and was effortlessly lifted by him.

"Did you perfect your 'Aard'?"

Atram nodded, a grin spreading across his face as he felt a sense of pride wash over him. "A few days back, aye. Thinking of calling it 'Quaking Strike'. Seems fitting, don't you think?" he asked, his voice brimming with excitement.

The swordsman chuckled and patted the bear on the back. "Well done! You truly are a master of your craft. Though, aren't you a little old to be naming your moves like a child?" he teased.

Atram rolled his eyes. "Says the man who named his technique 'Ki Blade'. Ugh, that's some bad naming sense, if I ever saw one," he replied, jokingly.

The two friends laughed heartily as the 'grouchy' one approached. "Great! Atram became even more of a freak than he already was." Lambert commented and looked at the shaken cobblestone. "Though, I must admit, seeing Geralt being flung across the arena was hilarious. Kinda reminds me of our first bout."

"Go plough yourself, Lambert. At least I haven't been getting trounced by him lately. Remind me, what is your overall score against him?" 

Lambert shrugged his shoulders. "I don't keep a score. Besides, with winter slowly coming to an end, it is time to begin our patrols. You will take the bear here and venture south-west, beyond the river." He stated, wanting to change the subject.

"Finally! Something to do around here! I swear, I was starting to go mad from boredom. How do you manage this every year?" Atram exclaimed, trying hard not to hop in gidiness.

"Oh? Clearing the mess in the courtyard wasn't enough for you? Maybe I'll assign you to clean the stables next, or the entire keep for good measure." A voice came from behind him.

Atram turned around and rubbed his neck in fake embarrassment. "Apologies, master Vesemir. My excitement got the better of me. Your fortress is truly impressive, and I am honored to be here." He paused, then shot Lambert a mischievous look. "Also, if Albert is not up to your standards, I can always create another one."

Lambert cursed under his breath. When he learned what the unseen servant's name was, he 'killed' it immediately. But Atram created new ones again and again until he finally got bored and gave up. But right now, the prospect of ending that thing's 'life' seemed like a good idea.

"Hmph, thought so." Vesemir replied and crossed his arms. "Seeing that you don't have a horse, you can take mine. The old beast is a stubborn one, but you will not find a more fearless and reliable steed in all the northern realms. Treat her fine, and she will do the same."

Atram nodded. "Thank you. And don't worry, I have my 'way' with animals."

Vesemir furrowed his brow at that, but he knew better, than to question Atram's methods. The man had given the witchers an entire new skillset that seamlessly merged with the rest of their offensive arsenal. Sure, he had a few peculiarities, like his fierce competitiveness and propensity for danger. But he was a reliable teacher and an outstanding student. Who was he to deny a man his vices?

"Follow Geralt's instructions. You may have learned about the monsters of this world, but knowing them and facing them are two different things." He indicated, in a sagely tone.

"He will be fine, old man. He is not a child; he can crack a wall open with his bare hands. In fact, I would be more worried about the mo-"

"Perhaps, you shall be on cleaning duty, Lambert. What say you?" Vesemir interrupted and shot him a menacing glare.

While Lambert loved his home and would defend it to his last breath, just the thought of doing Vesemir's 'cleaning duty' made him shiver. "I say... it is time to head out with Eskel."

Lambert quickened his step, and Geralt led Atram to the stables. "You dodged something fierce back there. Badmouthing the old witcher's home? Unwise."

Atram looked around, and after he confirmed Vesemir wasn't in the vicinity, he whispered. "You tell me. I know how much Master Vesemir loves Kaer Morhen; hell, even I've to come to like the place. But we have been cooped up inside for how long? Three, four months? How can a man not go insane?"

Arriving at the stables, Geralt brushed Roach's light-brown hide and checked her hooves before unfastening her and hopping on the saddle. "You just get used to it. The loneliness, the isolation, it becomes a part of you."

Atram shook his head and chuckled under his teeth. "Geralt, I respect your mettle as a warrior, and I recognize you as a fellow brother in arms, but that broodiness of yours can be quite depressing at times." 

"I'd joke that it adds to my charm, but I get how it might come off as a bit gloomy," Geralt said with a smirk. "But you know, Atram, my life's had its fair share of rough patches. The things I've seen and done... well, they ain't always pretty."

Atram nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. "I hear you, Geralt. I've got my own skeletons in the closet, seen stuff that'd make your hair stand on end. But that's why we've got to find joy in the little things, you know? Otherwise, we risk becoming as dark as the monsters we hunt."

Geralt paused, mulling over Atram's words. "You make a point. Life's not just black and white; it's all shades of gray, a mess we have to wade through."

"The contrasts of black and white, darkness and light, hope and despair, life and death. Everything coagulates; everything is intertwined in absolute oneness. Only then can there be balance, and only then can a man find harmony and achieve a semplance of perfection." Atram spoke in a low, steady voice.

Geralt was taken aback by Atam's words. "Interesting... What exactly does that even mean?"

"Fuck if I know. It is an old motto my father says all the time." Atram replied with a shrug. "But it sounds wise, doesn't it? Maybe that's all that matters. Maybe we're all just trying to make sense of the chaos in the world, and sometimes we need to grasp onto something, even if we don't fully understand it."

Geralt nodded slowly, pondering Atram's words. He couldn't deny the truth in them; life was a complex web of joy and sorrow, light and darkness. "For every act of evil, there is a corresponding act of kindness," he said, thinking back on his many adventures. "And for every tragedy, there is a glimmer of hope. And in totality, what brings balance to one person may bring chaos to another."

Atram let out a slow clap. "Geralt of Rivia, the scourge of all things wicked, the champion of the downtrodden, and now philosopher extraordinaire," he said with a sarcastic grin. "But seriously, I'm with you. Balance is subjective. I follow my heart, live without regrets. Do what I like, like what I do."

With a swift jump, he mounted Vesemir's horse, calming her with ease. "And, while I enjoy this little conversation of ours, can we leave before winter returns?"

Geralt chuckled. "You are the one that started it. And for your information, I do enjoy philosophy." He replied slightly sulkily.

"Philisophy and broodiness, you must be a joy at local festivities and banquets."

Geralt visibly winced. "Banquets... can't stand them. Snobby nobles doused in perfume blabbering about nothing, drinks that barely register, and food that never satisfies. And those blasted doublets! Always chafing and pulling where they shouldn't."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Atram chimed in. "Those linings feel like sandpaper against your skin, buttons digging in like tiny torture devices. One awkward twitch, and it's all coming apart."

"I believe the last part is clearly your problem." Geralt implied looking at the impossibly large man.

Atram grunted and rolled his eyes. "Let's get a move on."

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As the two riders emerged through the portcullis and crossed the fort's drawbridge, Atram's breath hitched in his throat at the sight before him. Stretching out was a vast forest, its trees draped in a delicate blanket of snow, their branches extending skyward like skeletal fingers. Despite the crisp and chilly air, it lacked the biting cold he had first encountered upon entering this all-too-familiar world.

Looking at the distance, he could see the majestic mountains that loomed over the horizon, their peaks hidden in a veil of mist. Taking a moment to bask in awe and wonder at the sheer size and beauty of nature, his mind drifted to the hectic events of the past few months.

Several days after his spar with Lambert, the grandmaster of the ancient fort assigned them a schedule that consumed most of their daily time. By the end of the first week, Atram had come to realize that when it came to training, the old wolf was an austere taskmaster who demanded nothing but excellence from his witchers, and for some reason, doubly so for Atram. The latter, of course, welcomed this challenge with open arms.

However, one of the exercises he had to undergo was simply not made for him. The pendulum was a device that swung back and forth, forcing the user to jump from one wooden post to the next in order to avoid the thick log that was fastened at the top. Ages ago, it was meant to teach the young trainees how to be agile and quick on their feet. This hellish contraption was the reason the witchers were famed for their phatnom like footwork and incredible balance.

Atram could tell right away that this was going to be nearly impossible for him. Although his balance was fine, treading on such a small surface with his large frame was a new challenge for him. Even when he was barefoot, which he preferred over normal footwear, he kept falling. Following the futility of his initial attempts, he was ready to rip his tormentor to shreds. But giving up was simply not in his blood, so he continued until he succeeded in an unorthodox way.

'If the whole foot won't do, how about just the toes?' he thought to himself. As a result, he began to rely solely on his tiptoes, using only the front part of his feet to keep himself balanced. It was a strange sight to see, but it worked. He was finally able to traverse the treacherous wooden posts without any mishaps. That exercise alone gave rise to one of the two techniques he had come to learn over the last few months.

The 'Flash Step' as he liked to call it, was just that: an incredible burst of speed that allowed him to move from one point to another in the blink of an eye as he 'gripped' the ground with ki energy centered on his toes. Overall, the pendulum proved to be a valuable teacher, helping him to hone his balance and coordination skills to unprecedented levels.

Next, Atram would oversee the witchers practice of ki manipulation and control. His assumption about them had been spot on. Maybe due to their mutations or because of the rigorous training they had to endure, they were naturals at distinguishing and harnessing their vitality. But seeing as they only had a few months to train, each one of them focused on what seemed to be their strongest attribute.

Eskel, for instance, honed his speed and overall footwork. Ki manipulation and cultivation require a calm and patient mind, so it was only appropriate that Eskel's progress would be the best, as he was always a temperate fellow. The witcher's alacrity had become truly impressive, allowing him to dodge and weave through enemy attacks with ease.

Geralt had a natural affinity for emitting ki on his sword, and so he spent hours perfecting his technique to maximize the effect. He was already a step above the rest because he had undergone not only the Trial of the Grasses but also another experimental round of mutations that left him with an even more enhanced body and his distinctive white hair. Now, along with his ki-clad blade, he could split a boulder in half with ease.

Vesemir's specialty was boosting his already supernatural senses. His unsurpassed knowledge of monster lore and decades of experience as a professional monster slayer, were boons of their own. With his enhanced senses, it appeared as if he had some sort of premonition, as he could predict the attacks before they occurred. This training regimen had truly breathed new life into the old wolf's bones, making him feel like a young trainee all over again.

Lambert was the oddball of the group. His expertise was unusual, to say the least. He could gather ki in his vocal cords and lungs, unleashing it with a shout in a circle around him. However, the wave of energy was not instantly harmful; instead, it paralyzed his opponent's body for a moment, leaving them vulnerable to attack and slightly increasing his own physical attributes. Nevertheless, Atram was really interested in Lambert's progress, as he had never seen anything like it among other practitioners.

All in all, ki practice had some extremely beneficial effects on the witchers. Not only did it become a versatile tool in their arsenal, but it also helped them maintain their physical and mental health. They all appeared younger; their posture was immaculate, their bodies were brimming with life, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice, and their minds were sharper than ever.

Of course, next on their busy schedule was testing out these newfound abilities. They would gather daily at the makeshift arena they had built after removing the plants that were obstructing the space. The arena was surrounded by a wooden fence, and the ground was leveled and smoothed out to ensure a fair playing field. The group would split into teams and engage in intense battles that would seem suicidal to a normal person. The severity of their wounds was such that it was hard to believe they were just sparing. However, it was all harmless thanks to their newest member,who could heal their injuries in minutes. And, as Vesemir stated, "pain builds character."

Through these bouts, they tested not only their physical abilities but also their teamwork. With Atram's suggestion, the witchers would no longer work alone. They were already few in number; losing another member would be disastrous for their order and the world as a whole. So, under the watchful eye of their trainer, mistakes were quickly corrected, and their skills were honed to perfection. They were taught to depend on each other, to communicate effectively, and to work together as a cohesive unit. They learned how to cover each other's weaknesses and how to amplify each other's strengths.

After such intense matches, they would retreat to the grand hall to dine and boast about their victories. Yet for Atram, there was no rest for the wicked. Once their meal was finished, he and Vesemir would go to the library, where the latter would teach him everything he needed to know about monsters, folklore, and general events that might prove useful.

Atram listened attentively to his educator. The man may prefer old-fashioned, brick-like books, but the manner in which he explained things was far from outdated. Vesemir had a way of making the most gruesome and terrifying creatures seem almost mundane. It was as if he had encountered every monster in existence and knew exactly how to defeat them. With some inquiry, Atram noticed the surprising similarities that the monsters of his world and this one shared. Nonetheless, there were many monster species he had never heard of, and he yearned to test his mettle against them.

He was also informed of the Northern Wars that ravaged this land, but seeing that he was a 'visitor' here, he couldn't care less about them. Entitled nobles and the like waged campaigns to gain more land, to become richer than they already were, and, of course, always at the expense of the common people. Warfare is the same everywhere, and he had seen enough of it.

Nay, what intrigued him more were the ancient ruins scattered throughout the land and the centuries-old palaces left behind by the elven civilization that has almost gone extinct in this world. He was interested in the Conjuction of the Spheres. A phenomenon that occurred more than a millennium ago when the worlds of monsters and men collided. The aftermath of the event still visible to this day, with magic and monsters now a part of the world.

Come evening, his studies would come to an end, and with a short break, he would teach the witchers some basic utility spells he knew as well as the required ingredients needed to cast them. For example, 'clean' needed a pinch of soap, 'create water' required water to already exist in order to increase the amount.

In return, the witchers were happy to share their knowledge of spells, but Atram did not use magic when he fought. His only request was to observe the sign 'Aard' as it had intrigued him. And while studying it, he came up with his second technique, 'Quaking Strike' in which the ki that envelops his hand acts as a cushion for the fist that delivers the energy through and around his opponent. A truly devastating move.

Finally, as the sun set, they would gather to eat, converse, boast, and share stories of their adventures. Stories about things that humans had to build walls around to protect themselves from. Abominations created deep inside the earth by the etherium itself that could destroy whole villages if left unchecked. That and many more tales were shared among the group as they sat around the long table.

"And I'd do it all over again." Atram whispered with a smile as he spurred his horse onwards.