[ The phoenix is the most ostentatious piece Geralt owns by far; had it come from anyone else, he'd have left it at the bottom of a drawer. But it was from Jaskier, so he's made it a fixture on his sword. ]

I don't know. [ Like her, it's little more than an idle topic. ] Something ends, something begins.

[ Isn't that what they say? The end is not always the end. He's learned so much else about the Conjunction since Jaskier told him of the elves' story, and though he's tucked that information away, it leaves him more uncertain than ever. Who is he to believe? A mysterious shapeshifter with an agenda of her own or the humans who wrote a victor's history?

He's looser by the time she stops. Rolling onto his side, he faces her as she lays against him. His fingers rest against her hip, sliding underneath the thin fabric of her slip. ]

I was with Ciri. For a while, we were together. [ There's the implication that he remembers a time when they were apart. Digging into the memories is difficult. He remembers them feeling right when nothing else existed, but he's still deciding where everything fits now that there's...more. A part of him will always be aware that's all they are. Visions. Memories rushing by within a night. It's not so simple as waking up with a new reality to accept without question. ]

She was happy. Hassled me every day to come hunting with me. Given the choice, she'd have wanted to live out her days doing little more. [ He hums, thoughtful. ] I suppose here, she can.

[ That's what he wants to ensure. To him, nothing else matters except that Ciri finally be content with her life, that she needn't flee for the rest of it. ]