[ Ciri presses herself close in his embrace, still trying to figure out how she's feeling, to take control of her racing heart.
All this time, she'd been thinking -- maybe not actively, but somewhere in the back of her mind, ever-present -- that she needs to figure out a way to set things right. That their paths are all wrong and the jumbled mess that has become of the future and the past has to come untangled somehow. That she is the only one with the pieces and the power and that she must, eventually, send them on their way.
She would have to take Geralt somewhere far away once more, unsure if she would ever see him again.
It takes a long time for her to begin to wrap her head around what Geralt is saying instead. Agonizing seconds pass in silence, drawing out into a full minute that crawls by like years. The choice does not have to be hers alone. It does not have to be a choice at all.
There is a chance -- a real chance -- that they can stay like this instead. The decision is to simply... stop. Not to think about trying to get everyone home again, or how the time will right itself. Not to blame herself and wonder if she should have tried harder months ago, if there was some way to reawaken her powers, if she is the reason they're trapped. Not to feel guilty for being content with the life they've built in Cadens, feeling like it is a stolen moment, something that should not exist.
Geralt is right.
We can only move forward.
When Ciri imagines moving forward, all she's seen until now is a convoluted road into darkness, always something ahead, always something chasing behind. And somewhere, in the distance, a hope to see the people she loves again.
She had never imagined Abraxas. She had never imagined a cramped little loft apartment in a desert city worlds beyond any she'd ever seen. She'd never imagined Geralt only ever a thought away, every day. Drinking and swapping stories with Jaskier more evenings than not. Even Yennefer, a continent apart but still more within reach than she's been for far too long.
But Ciri had imagined -- hoped for -- a home. It is a home made of people, of fates bound together and trust kept. It is not a place. It hasn't been for years.
Even after all this time, Geralt's words have stayed with her, a closely-guarded talisman tucked inside her heart. His plea. His promise.
We are your family. It's not perfect, but it is real.
Just as real here as it would be on any other sphere.
Ciri's voice is muffled in Geralt's shirt, thick around the lump in her throat. ]
I have spent half my life... running. Hiding. Being afraid.
I--
[ She chokes. The fear might never go away, not fully. But no matter what happens now, she knows there is something to stand and fight for. Here. Together. ]
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All this time, she'd been thinking -- maybe not actively, but somewhere in the back of her mind, ever-present -- that she needs to figure out a way to set things right. That their paths are all wrong and the jumbled mess that has become of the future and the past has to come untangled somehow. That she is the only one with the pieces and the power and that she must, eventually, send them on their way.
She would have to take Geralt somewhere far away once more, unsure if she would ever see him again.
It takes a long time for her to begin to wrap her head around what Geralt is saying instead. Agonizing seconds pass in silence, drawing out into a full minute that crawls by like years. The choice does not have to be hers alone. It does not have to be a choice at all.
There is a chance -- a real chance -- that they can stay like this instead. The decision is to simply... stop. Not to think about trying to get everyone home again, or how the time will right itself. Not to blame herself and wonder if she should have tried harder months ago, if there was some way to reawaken her powers, if she is the reason they're trapped. Not to feel guilty for being content with the life they've built in Cadens, feeling like it is a stolen moment, something that should not exist.
Geralt is right.
We can only move forward.
When Ciri imagines moving forward, all she's seen until now is a convoluted road into darkness, always something ahead, always something chasing behind. And somewhere, in the distance, a hope to see the people she loves again.
She had never imagined Abraxas. She had never imagined a cramped little loft apartment in a desert city worlds beyond any she'd ever seen. She'd never imagined Geralt only ever a thought away, every day. Drinking and swapping stories with Jaskier more evenings than not. Even Yennefer, a continent apart but still more within reach than she's been for far too long.
But Ciri had imagined -- hoped for -- a home. It is a home made of people, of fates bound together and trust kept. It is not a place. It hasn't been for years.
Even after all this time, Geralt's words have stayed with her, a closely-guarded talisman tucked inside her heart. His plea. His promise.
We are your family. It's not perfect, but it is real.
Just as real here as it would be on any other sphere.
Ciri's voice is muffled in Geralt's shirt, thick around the lump in her throat. ]
I have spent half my life... running. Hiding. Being afraid.
I--
[ She chokes. The fear might never go away, not fully. But no matter what happens now, she knows there is something to stand and fight for. Here. Together. ]
I do not want to run anymore.