Elsewhere. [He didn't plan that far ahead. He's still groggy with sleep, feeling like his head is going to implode, and he knows all the dingy and dusty corners of Cadens by now where a man can go to be alone and quietly fall apart.

He rests against her, having no strength right now to get up. Once he stills his swirling thoughts, hopefully. Once he stops seeing --]

I know. I know, Ciri.

[She is here. She is alive and grown and if didn't know it now, he would have never guessed something like this had happened to her. But as if they were seconds ago, he can see her, and Yennefer, and Geralt. Disappearing before his eyes. Nary the dust moved in their absence.

His breath stutters in his throat, and it threatens to choke him again.]

They are not dreams. They're memories. Mine. And I feel them as if they only happened moments ago. You'll forgive me if I'm -- I'm a bit of a mess.