The ruins were silent as Kael moved deeper, his footsteps muffled by centuries of dust. Cold stone walls stretched into the darkness, their surfaces scarred with old runes and forgotten etchings. This place had once been alive—filled with scholars, alchemists, and whatever creatures they had been creating.
Now, it was just a tomb.
Kael ran his fingers over a faded engraving along the wall. The symbols stirred something in his fragmented memories, a whisper of knowledge just beyond his reach. His mind grasped at it, but like mist, it slipped through his fingers.
There were too many holes in his past.
His body knew how to move, how to fight, how to survive. But the man he had been before waking? A stranger wearing his skin. Still, one thing was clear—he had not been a normal Witcher.
He kept searching, his sharp eyes scanning for anything that might be of use. Most of what remained was broken or rotted, but here and there, time had failed to erase everything. A steel sword, its blade dull but still intact. He tested its weight—unbalanced, but serviceable. An old alchemy kit, containing dried herbs and crushed minerals. Enough to craft a potion or two if he had the right knowledge. Scraps of armor, rusted and brittle. Useless.
Then, he found something unexpected.
A sealed iron chest, tucked away in a collapsed chamber. Unlike everything else, it was untouched by time. The markings along its edges pulsed faintly—a protective enchantment, still active after all these years.
Kael crouched beside it, running his fingers over the lock. His Witcher senses tingled—old magic, layered and intricate. Who had left this behind? And more importantly—what was inside? His heartbeat quickened as he reached for the lock, ready to break its seal.
But then—movement.
A soft scrape of stone against stone.
Kael's muscles tensed. He was not alone.
Kael stilled, his fingers pausing just above the iron chest. The sound had been faint—but distinct. Something had moved within the ruins.
His red eyes narrowed as he focused, reaching into his instincts. Listen. Feel. Observe.
The air was unchanged—no sudden shift in temperature, no scent of decay or blood. No heavy breathing, no skittering claws against stone. Whatever had moved was either careful, or… not alive in the conventional sense.
'Not a beast'
He reached for the steel sword he had found earlier, gripping its hilt as he slowly rose to his feet. His senses stretched outward, scanning the darkness. Then—another sound. Closer this time. A whisper of fabric brushing against stone. A presence. Kael exhaled slowly. A threat, then. But what kind?
If it were a scavenger, they might be here for relics, unaware of his presence. If it were something else—he needed to be ready.
The chest could hold something valuable, something forgotten. But if he ignored the movement and it turned out to be hostile, he could end up dead before he even opened it. His grip tightened on the sword.
He exhaled slowly and melted into the shadows. Avoid. Observe. Understand.
The ruins were his battleground. He knew the layout, the blind spots, the narrow corridors where sound twisted and stretched. Whoever or whatever was here did not know him. But he would know them.
Moving with careful precision, he stepped back into the cover of a collapsed archway, pressing himself against the cool stone. He slowed his breath, quieted his heartbeat, let his presence fade.
Silence.
Then—the movement again. Closer. A figure emerged from the darkness, moving with slow, deliberate steps. Kael's sharp eyes took in every detail.
A man. Cloaked, hood pulled low. Clothes built for travel, not battle. A sword on his hip. Worn but well-kept. His stance? Uncertain. Not a scavenger—he wasn't searching for valuables. Not a soldier—his posture lacked discipline.
Kael watched as the man paused near the sealed chest. He knows about it.
The stranger studied the enchantments lining its edges, fingers hovering over the runes but not touching. Cautious. Familiar with magic, but not an expert. Kael stayed hidden, every muscle still.
Kael remained still, blending into the darkness like a shadow given form. Patience was a hunter's tool.
The cloaked man didn't move for a long moment. He was careful. His fingers hovered above the enchanted chest, tracing the runes without touching them. His posture was tense, his head tilting slightly—listening.
'He suspects he's not alone'
Yet, after another moment, he seemed to push the thought aside. Slowly, he reached into a pouch at his belt, pulling out a small vial. A reagent? A potion?
Kael watched as the man uncorked it and poured a few drops onto the lock. The liquid shimmered faintly before being absorbed into the metal, causing the enchantments to flicker and weaken.
'Interesting'
This stranger knew what he was doing. He wasn't just some wanderer who had stumbled upon the ruins—he had come prepared. A soft click echoed through the chamber as the magic sealing the chest began to unravel. Kael narrowed his eyes. Now came the real question.
If the man opened the chest, would he take what was inside? Would he leave it? Or was he here for something specific?
Kael flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword. He had been patient. He had observed. Now, the moment of decision was approaching.
Kael remained hidden, muscles coiled with tension, watching as the cloaked man worked. Patience. Observation. Understanding. These were weapons just as sharp as steel. The enchantment flickered again, its glow fading further as the reagent did its work. The man waited a moment, then pressed his fingers against the lock.
Click.
The lock disengaged.
The man exhaled softly, then lifted the heavy lid. Dust spilled into the air, disturbed for the first time in centuries. Kael couldn't see inside from his position, but the stranger's reaction told him something—whatever was inside, it was important.
The man's breathing hitched ever so slightly. Not fear—surprise. Recognition. He reached inside carefully, pulling something free.
A book.
Kael's sharp eyes caught a glimpse of the worn leather cover, the faint shimmer of runes embedded along its spine. Old magic. The kind most men had long since forgotten how to wield. The stranger turned the book over in his hands, flipping open the cover. His brow furrowed as he scanned the pages. He could read it. Kael felt his heartbeat quicken. That book had been locked away for a reason. And now, it was in the hands of an unknown figure.
The man hesitated for only a moment before slipping the book into his cloak. Then, just as carefully, he reached back into the chest—searching for more.
Kael had seen enough. It was time to act.
He moved like a shadow, silent as death itself. The cloaked man was too focused on the chest, his hands still shifting through its contents. He never heard Kael approach. In one fluid motion, Kael unsheathed the hunter's dagger he had taken earlier. The blade was cold, well-balanced—a tool meant for quick, quiet kills and before the man could react, Kael was behind him, pressing the razor-sharp edge against his throat.
The stranger froze.
Kael could feel the tension coil through the man's body, the way his muscles locked up in response to the steel against his skin. No sudden movements. No sound. He was trained—someone who understood exactly how close he was to death. For a long, silent moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was the faint crackling of decayed stone shifting under unseen pressure.
Then, in a low, controlled voice, Kael finally spoke.
"The book. Place it back. Slowly."
The man hesitated for only a fraction of a second, then, with deliberate movements, reached into his cloak and retrieved the ancient tome. Carefully, he lowered it back into the chest. Kael pressed the blade a little closer—not enough to cut, but enough to remind him that escape was not an option.
"Now," Kael continued, voice barely above a whisper, "who are you?"
The man inhaled slowly. Then, still without moving, he spoke.
"…That depends." His voice was calm, measured. "Who are you?"
Kael didn't answer. He wasn't here to trade names.
The real question was—what was this man after? And was he willing to kill for it?
Kael kept the dagger steady, his grip unwavering. The man wasn't panicking—but he was calculating. Looking for an escape, weighing his options. Kael had seen it before. A fighter's instinct. Not a scholar. Not a lost traveler. Someone that knew how to defend themselves.
Before the man could act, Kael shifted his weight, twisting the dagger slightly—a warning. At the same time, his free hand moved with precision, gripping the hilt of the stranger's sword and pulling it from its sheath. The steel hissed softly as it left the scabbard. Kael took a step back, flipping the sword in his hand and tossing it aside. It clattered against the stone floor, well out of reach.
Now, the man was truly vulnerable.
"Sit," Kael ordered.
For a moment, the man didn't move. Then, slowly, he lowered himself onto the cold ground, hands raised slightly—not in surrender, but in careful compliance.
Kael crouched across from him, dagger still in hand. His red eyes burned with cold calculation.
"Start talking," he said. "What is this place to you? Why do you know how to break an old enchantment?"
The man tilted his head slightly, studying Kael in return. He seemed to consider his words carefully before answering.
"…You're not one of them."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "One of who?"
The man exhaled, then finally spoke:
"The ones who buried this place."
Kael didn't react, but the words struck deep. He had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed from another's mouth meant one thing—this place was more than just ruins to some.
And those people were still watching.