The mist clung to the forest like a second skin, muffling the dawn's quiet stirrings. Thorolf walked cautiously, his boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. The wilds here felt alive in ways that unsettled even him, a seasoned Witcher. His bear medallion rested against his chest, a cold weight that pulsed faintly, warning him of the druidic wards woven into the land. The forest was not hostile, but it was watchful, and Thorolf knew better than to ignore its presence.
He paused at the edge of a clearing, his sharp gaze scanning the area. The branches above swayed gently, though there was no wind, and faint whispers—perhaps the forest, perhaps his own thoughts—filled the stillness. Thorolf tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, though he knew it would do little against the ancient magic coursing through this place.
It had been six years since he last saw Ailsa, and in that time, he'd told himself countless reasons to stay away. His life as a Witcher had no place for family. But the prophecy changed everything. The whispers had reached even the School of the Bear, carried on the lips of druids and travelers alike. A child born of two worlds, destined to stand against the Hunt. The words weighed heavily on him. He'd avoided responsibility for years, but the thought of Eldric—his son—facing the trials alone drove him here.
"The time has come," he muttered, stepping forward. The mist parted as though reluctant to let him pass.
Ailsa crouched near a patch of moss, her hands deftly weaving stems of ivy into a small circle. Nearby, Eldric balanced on a fallen log, his arms outstretched for balance. The boy's laughter rang out as he leapt to the ground, his landing light and sure. At six years old, Eldric's movements already carried a natural grace, his connection to the forest evident in every step.
"Again, Mama?" he asked, his blue eyes bright with excitement.
Ailsa smiled, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face. "In a moment. Let me finish this first."
Eldric nodded, darting off toward a nearby cluster of rocks. Ailsa watched him go, her heart swelling with both pride and unease. He was growing stronger every day, but so too was the weight of his destiny. The wilds had claimed him as their own, and she could only hope that her teachings would prepare him for the trials to come.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a faint rustle in the underbrush. She stood, her hands falling to her sides as her eyes scanned the edge of the clearing. The air felt different, charged with an energy she hadn't felt in years. Then she saw him.
Thorolf stepped into the clearing, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the mossy ground. His hair, streaked with gray, was tied back in a loose knot, and his weathered face bore the lines of countless battles. He wore the heavy leathers and furs of the School of the Bear, his silver sword glinting faintly at his side. But it was his eyes—cold and unflinching, yet tinged with something softer—that held her gaze.
Ailsa stood motionless, her breath caught in her throat. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and heavy. "Thorolf." His name hung in the air like an accusation.
Thorolf nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Ailsa."
The silence between them was thick with unspoken words. Eldric emerged from behind the rocks, his curiosity piqued by the stranger's arrival. He paused, studying Thorolf with a mix of caution and intrigue. "Mama, who's that?"
Ailsa's throat tightened, her gaze flicking between Thorolf and her son. How could she explain this to Eldric? How could she make him understand who this man was without unraveling the fragile balance they had built?
Thorolf stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. He crouched to Eldric's level, his piercing gaze meeting the boy's. "I'm Thorolf," he said, his voice steady but soft. "And you must be Eldric."
Eldric tilted his head, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. "How do you know my name?"
Thorolf's lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. "Because I'm your father."
The clearing fell silent. Ailsa's hands curled into fists at her sides, her heart pounding. Eldric's expression shifted from confusion to wonder, then back to caution.
"You're my papa?" he asked softly.
Thorolf nodded, his gaze never wavering. "Yes, Eldric. I am."
The fire crackled softly as dusk settled over the forest. Eldric had fallen asleep near the flames, his small frame curled beneath a blanket. Ailsa sat across from Thorolf, the space between them filled with tension. Her fingers traced patterns in the dirt, her expression hard to read.
"You should have stayed away," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Thorolf's jaw tightened. "I tried. But the prophecy changes things."
Ailsa's gaze snapped to his, her emerald eyes blazing. "The prophecy changes nothing about what you did. You left, Thorolf. Before he was even born."
"Because I thought it was best," he said, his voice hard. "I'm a Witcher, Ailsa. What kind of life could I have given him? What kind of father could I have been?"
Her shoulders sagged, the firelight casting shadows across her face. "And now?" she asked. "What kind of father can you be now?"
Thorolf looked toward Eldric, his expression softening. "The kind who will protect him. The kind who will prepare him for what's coming."
Ailsa's throat tightened. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him that he had no right to make such promises. But the truth was, she couldn't protect Eldric alone. And despite her anger, a part of her was glad Thorolf was here.
"You don't even know him," she said, her voice cracking. "He's not like you, Thorolf. He's…" She trailed off, searching for the words.
"He's like both of us," Thorolf said quietly. "And that's why he needs us. Together."
The next morning, Thorolf took Eldric into the forest. Ailsa watched from a distance, her heart heavy with both fear and hope. Thorolf crouched beside Eldric, pointing toward a fallen log that stretched across a shallow ravine.
"Walk across it," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.
Eldric hesitated, glancing at the gap beneath the log. "What if I fall?"
"Then you'll climb back up and try again," Thorolf said simply. "That's how we learn."
Ailsa's breath caught as Eldric placed one foot on the log, his arms outstretched for balance. He wobbled slightly but pressed on, his steps slow and deliberate. When he reached the other side, he turned back, his face alight with pride.
"I did it, Papa!" he called.
Thorolf's lips twitched in a faint smile. "Good. Now come back."
Eldric's confidence grew with each step, and Ailsa felt a flicker of something she hadn't allowed herself to feel in years: hope.
That night, as the forest settled into its nocturnal rhythms, Thorolf stood alone beneath the stars. His bear medallion hummed faintly against his chest, a constant reminder of the path he had chosen. He glanced back toward the sanctuary, where Ailsa and Eldric slept, their forms silhouetted against the firelight.
"I'll protect you," he murmured, his voice a vow carried into the night. "No matter the cost."