Nightmare

In the early afternoon, the sun lazily bathed the still forest in its warm rays, while a gentle breeze danced through the trees. Amidst the aftermath of battle, where the air was thick with the scent of blood and the acrid odor of charred corpses, a man lay resting upon the soothing coolness beneath him. His weary body, burdened by recent efforts, surrendered to slumber's sweet embrace.

However, instead of finding respite and tranquility, he was enveloped by despair, pain, and agony. In a dreary, cold cell, surrounded by shadowy figures, all he could perceive was darkness. The air was heavy with the scent of dried blood, and as he attempted to move, he realized his body was bound by thick, unyielding chains.

Putting more effort into his struggle proved futile, and he could only watch as the shadow drew closer. Their faces were shrouded in unerring darkness, but their intentions were clear. One of them approached him, placed a dagger right where his stomach was, and, with considerable effort, managed to pierce his skin. He winced in pain, feeling the sharp instrument tearing through his flesh.

The others stood back, observing with an eerie calmness as the first one continued to inflict harm on him. Despite this, the man remained remarkably composed; his anger towards them kept him from feeling the full extent of his injuries, his tormentor's actions only adding fuel to the fire.

As the minutes ticked by, his strength began to wane, and his body was unable to heal as quickly as the wounds were being inflicted, yet his fury never dissipated. At last, the torturer ceased, laboring for breath as he rejoined their group, only to be replaced by another. The new figure approached, extending a hand toward his temple, pulsing with magical energy.

With lightning speed, the chained man snapped his head to the side and sunk his teeth into the torturer's wrist, the motion almost too swift to follow. The mage howled in agony, stumbling back instinctively, causing the magical energy to dissipate instantly. Seizing the opportunity, the prisoner surged forward. Though the chains strained against his strength, he couldn't break free entirely. Yet, he was near enough to his assailant, driven by blind rage, he sank his teeth into the throat of his enemy.

Blood spurted out of the wound, and the mage gurgled in agony, unable to escape the toothy maw. He bit down with such force that he managed to chew through the mage's windpipe, effectively silencing him forever. Spitting out the remains, he let the lifeless body slump to the ground. Consumed by primal fury, he turned towards the other figures, unleashing an unearthly roar that foretold death and destruction.

The sound reverberated through the cell, shaking the walls and causing dust and specks of loose stone to rain down from the ceiling. Witnessing his unbridled bloodlust, the others cowered in fear and hastily fled the premises to summon reinforcements.

Some time later, the man slowly regained consciousness, feeling the weight of exhaustion and hunger gnawing at his body. Aware that his ordeal was far from over, he realized escape was imperative. He scanned the room for any possible exit but found none, and his chains held fast against his admittedly feeble efforts.

As he gazed at the pool of blood beneath him, he tried to piece together the events that led to his current plight. Had he erred somewhere along the way? Was this the consequence of past transgressions? These questions swirled in his mind as darkness engulfed him completely.

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Atram was jolted from his sleep by a series of muffled explosions in the distance. He blinked his eyes open, his gaze drawn to the plumes of smoke rising from the palace's courtyard. When he noticed Geralt was not present, he stood up and went to investigate the commotion.

Traversing the exterior of the elven ruins, he noticed the ghouls' corpses, which were completely incinerated by now. 'He's been busy,' he thought with a wry smile, trying to forget the harrowing nightmare. Shaking his head, he ascended the long stairway that led to the courtyard.

The scene that greeted him was more or less the same. In the center stood a square, roofless building with high walls of marble covered in ivy and moss. Around it was a well preserved garden with an assortment of flowers that, despite the weather conditions, were in full bloom.

His attention was drawn by the lone witcher waiting for him near a smoking hole in the ground. Getting closer, the grim reality of the pit unfolded before him—it was a sprawling ghoul nest, encircled by a macabre array of branches and bones.

"You're finally awake." Geralt remarked, striding toward him. "I tried everything to wake you up, including slapping. Seriously, how can..." He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze fixed on Atram's expression. "Are you alright? You don't look so good."

Atram sat on a fallen pillar, his arms resting on his knees as he took a deep breath before responding. "I had a nightmare, but it felt so real, like I was reliving a past experience," he said, his voice trembling. "I was in a cell, chained and surrounded by shadowy figures. One of them came forth and began torturing me while I was powerless to intervene. Then another came forward, and..." He shifted his gaze downward.

"Thing is, I've never had such a dream before, nor can I remember anything associated with it. Yet the emotions were so genuine and vivid. It's like my mind was trying to tell me something, but I just can't figure out what."

Geralt joined him, tapping his knee in thought. "I had a similar experience when I was recovering my memories. It felt just as you described. This means you're starting to recall what happened during your memory lapse." He placed his hand on Atram's shoulder. "Remembering things that were once forgotten can be overwhelming, so take your time and let your mind process everything."

Atram sighed and gave him a nod. "What happened while I was sleeping?"

"I burned the ghouls, and destroyed their nest," Geralt explained, his expression growing gloomier. "Their numbers were abnormaly high for the season. A pack of that size, would've needed plenty of corpses to feed on."

Atram raised an eyebrow. "What's your take?"

"Found some half-eaten bodies in their den, but the rest were stripped clean. Hard to say how many they had already feasted on but I'd say forty give or take."

Atram was shocked at the revelation. "Geralt, that's an entire village's worth of people! How could they have gone unnoticed for so long?"

Geralt shrugged. "Who treks this road in winter? In fact, had they not attacked them near our path, not even I would have managed to pick up their trail."

"I see... They died defenseless, didn't they?"

"Uh-huh. Not a weapon among them-just rakes and other such tools."

"Fuck!" Atram exclaimed and spat toward the gaping nest. "To die like that... Wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

"Mmm." Geralt murmured in agreement, his gaze fixed on the charred remains, a silent witness to the tragedy that had unfolded. "This is pure speculation, but I believe they were evicted from their homes. Too few supplies for a caravan, too many for mere travelers. With the war raging, families get displaced, forced out." 

"That's a possibility. But what brought the ghouls here in the first place?"

Geralt stood up and dusted his armor, his eyes scanning the surrounding area. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

They passed the gardens and went into the dilapidated building. A short flight of stairs later, they found themselves at the heart of the palace. Atram's gaze was drawn to a single statue situated behind a rose bush adorned with beautiful white-lilied flowers and silver drops on the petals.

The exquisitely crafted marble depicted a slender yet stunning woman, her long hair cascading down her back, crowned with thorns atop her head. With a regal and commanding stance, she held a curved sword aloft, pointing towards the heavens. The rose bush behind her seemed to bloom even more vibrantly in her presence, as if acknowledging her significance.

"Aelirenn, the White Rose of Shaerrawedd. The elven rebel who led her race into a final and suicidal battle against the human invaders," Geralt remarked, staring the roses.

Memories of him and Ciri strolling through the gardens of Shaerrawedd surged through his mind. He recalled her fascination with the silvery roses and how she had requested to pluck one to preserve the memory of this enchanting place.

"After all these years, the elves still tend to these gardens with such care. It's remarkable how they cling to hope despite everything that's occurred."

Geralt sighed, gesturing towards the statue's base. "Unfortunately, that hope is dwindling with each passing year."

Atram leaned in for a closer look and noticed two curved swords buried in the ground. "Elven?"

"Yes." Geralt crouched and shuffled in the snow, picking up a skull. "See? No canines."

Atram hummed in agreement, his face grim. "The war has continued for decades. Hard to imagine there can ever be peace between them."

Geralt stood up, brushing the snow off his knees. "I don't think it's only the war, but their living conditions as well. Elves have been pushed to the outskirts of society, forced to live in poverty and squalor... But you're correct. No peace can be achieved unless both humans and elves can walk as equals." He blinked slowly as he turned to face Atram. "And we both know that's not going to happen."

"True." Atram replied and pointed at the skull. "Think the man knew it and came here to die?"

"That's my guess. He arrived here seeking peace in death, away from a world that offered him none in life." Geralt paused, a flicker of unusual sadness crossing his features. "And that's how the ghouls gathered. They discovered the body and decided to make their nest here as winter approached. The rest, you already know."

"That is very speculative, even for you," Atram remarked, eyebrows furrowed in skepticism.

"Before arriving at Kaer Morhen, I passed by Shaerrawedd. Four months ago, there were neither ghouls nor elves. So placing the events in that order is entirely possible."

"Can't leave something unsolved, can you?" Atram asked with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Geralt chuckled in his raspy voice. "Occupational hazards of being a witcher," he remarked. "Vesemir always said that every scene, be it one of a crime or the aftermath of a monster hunt, tells a story if you know how to read it."

"Huh…. To be honest, I don't recall him ever saying that," Atram admitted, scratching his head.

Geralt shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Maybe he was too busy beating the everliving shit out of you, trying to correct your mistakes at the Pendulum."

Atram felt a shiver go down his spine as he remembered that infernal contraption. "Even now, I can hear his voice. 'Use your heels! Wrong! Footwork! Don't drag your feet!'" He bellowed, imitating his mentor's orders.

"Oh! Don't forget the best one," Geralt interjected, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "'Break the log, and I'll throw you from Kaer Morhen's highest peak! See how that regeneration of yours holds up against gravity.'"

"Ah, good times," Atram remarked sarcastically, shaking his head. "And I've a feeling he would've followed through if given the chance."

"Now you're being overdramatic."

"Am I?"

Geralt gave it little thought before replying, "Well, let's just say I wouldn't put it past him."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too."

Their conversation was interrupted by the distant echo of a wolf's howl, reminding them of the dangers lurking in the wilderness for their young companion.

"Come, we've lingered long enough. Time to hit the road," Geralt remarked, stealing one last glance at the stunning scenery that brought forth fond memories of yore.

"Agreed."