Between Geralt of Rivia and Ciri and Yennefer of Vengerberg and Dandelion as parent-child.
The wind howled with the cries of a thousand lost souls, whipping through the skeletal remains of an Elven stronghold, long since succumbed to the cruelty of time and war. Muffled by the thick stone walls, Geralt of Rivia sharpened his sword to a lethal edge, each stroke a meditation. The methodical scraping sound melded with the rhythmic panting of Ciri as she practiced her footwork, her figure blurred in relentless motion.
“Faster,” the Witcher muttered, his cat-like eyes flickering towards her with a mix of pride and concern. “The enemy will not grant you the luxury of exhaustion.” Ciri’s response was a defiant increase in speed, her determination painting her features with a warrior's grimace. She was the Child of Surprise, his fate-bound ward, and the pivot upon which the balance of power in the Continent teetered precariously.
That evening, as the sky donned its velvet cloak, punctured by the distant shimmer of icy stars, a knock echoed through the empty halls. With the grace of a shadow and the silence of a specter, Yennefer of Vengerberg entered. Her eyes, as obsidian as the night, held whispers of ominous tides. There was an aura of dire urgency that surrounded her, a shroud that the Witcher recognized all too well.
"I bring ill news," Yennefer announced, her voice carrying the weight of impending doom. "A cabal of mages blinded by ambition and fear seek power over the kingdoms." Geralt's hand instinctively reached for his sword, the steel singing as it brushed against the sheath. Ciri, ever observant, mirrored his tension, her own hand poised above the hilt of her blade.
Amidst their strategic planning, the fireside warmth was shattered by an unforeseen revelation, delivered with unbearable heaviness by Yennefer. Dandelion, the bard, characterized by his flamboyant tales and frivolous attitude towards danger, had turned his lute against them. Seduced by the power the cabal promised, he served their dark will, spinning lies and discord with the same zeal he once dedicated to ballads and ale.
The treachery cut deeper than any beast's claw. Dandelion, who had been both minstrel and confidant, now stood as a symbol of humanity's fragile loyalty. His betrayal posed a question darker than any Geralt had faced: when the time came, could he stand against one he had loved as a brother?
Caught in a storm of moral quandary, witcher, sorceress, and Child of Surprise prepared for the inevitable. Battles loomed on the horizon, not just of steel and spell, but of the heart. Grit, once reserved for monstrous foes, now armored them against the cruelties of human deceit. They would stand united or fall divided, with the world's fate hanging treacherously in the balance.