Viking and The Witcher: Year 1.5

It had been a hellish eight weeks at sea for Thorfinn and the others. The ship they were on was a large passenger vessel, which meant it was often packed with people. It also made numerous stops, sometimes for days at a time. When Thorfinn had asked why they didn't just use his own ship, Geralt had merely grunted and returned to meditation. The small enchanted ship Thorfinn carried in his pocket would have gotten them to Constantinople in six weeks without being affected by weather or needing to stop, he had been tempted to use it anyway and wait for them in Constantinople, at least he would but he had given it to Geralt as the man wanted to inspect it as it was the first time he'd seen a divine artefact. This ship's journey was set to take twelve weeks, and with the constant bad weather and frequent delays, it seemed like it would take even longer.

One day, Thorfinn realized the ship must have been intended as a pleasure cruise for the wealthy. There were constant parties and celebrations, none of which interested him. The only thing he cared about was getting to Constantinople as quickly as possible. The stops were frustrating, and the endless music grated on his nerves. Arwyn found his irritation amusing, teasing him about being a Viking who didn't want to drink and sing. He had almost punched her for that comment—and did shove her, which she returned in kind. Their scuffle nearly got them thrown off the boat if not for Geralt paying the captain to overlook it.

Thorfinn stood at the edge of the ship with his arms crossed, staring out at the churning sea. His temper had been short of late, though it wasn't entirely because of Arwyn. While she could be irritating, he had grown to prefer her sarcastic remarks over the outright disdain she used to show him before they left Kattegat. He understood why she had hated him—he had killed her family. But they had been his enemies, and they had been weak. If they had been stronger, perhaps they would still be alive and he would not. Still, if that had been the case, Arwyn might have remained cursed, living a miserable existence.

It was strange to see how much she had changed since their first meeting. Back then, she had been eager to serve him, desperate to please. Now, she argued over simple things, like cooking supper. He chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head.

His thoughts drifted to something far more pressing. It had been nearly a year since he had last seen Rebekah and Freydis. He missed them deeply. The ache in his chest felt like a burning hole that only grew larger with each passing day. But he had to remain resolute. This was the path he had chosen, the one that would lead him to Dahlia.

"At this rate, though, we'll never find her," he thought bitterly.

Thorfinn had wanted to hunt Dahlia immediately after leaving Kattegat, not wanting her trail to grow cold. But Geralt had refused. The Witcher insisted that fighting someone as powerful as Dahlia required extensive preparation and training. Thorfinn had none of the former and very little of the latter. Geralt had offered to help but made it clear Thorfinn would first need to pass his trials. He even suggested taking Thorfinn to Kaer Morhen for proper training and, eventually, the process that turned men into Witchers.

Thorfinn refused outright. He had no desire to waste years of his life in a single place not searching for Dahlia, and he was even less interested in the prospect of becoming infertile. He knew Rebekah wouldn't appreciate that. When Arwyn expressed interest in undergoing the Witcher trials, Geralt had firmly told her no. No woman had ever survived the trials or enhancements, and he wouldn't let her become a casualty.

The ship rocked gently beneath Thorfinn's feet as he sighed, leaning against the railing. The journey was taking far longer than he had hoped, and every delay felt like an eternity. But he knew there was no turning back now. Turning away from the sea, he saw Geralt approaching him. Thorfinn felt a flash of irritation at the man for bringing them aboard this pleasure cruise for aristocrats rather than taking the fastest route to their destination. His irritation only seemed to amuse the Witcher.

"You're not meditating," Geralt said gruffly, leaning next to him on the railing.

"I tried. I couldn't do it," Thorfinn replied, his tone clipped.

"Try harder. If you want to better control your magic, this is a basic necessity," Geralt said, his calm demeanor doing little to ease Thorfinn's frustration.

"It's hard to meditate when I'm surrounded by fools constantly singing and drinking," Thorfinn said through clenched teeth.

"That's precisely why I chose this boat," Geralt said, his tone flat.

Thorfinn gave him a sharp look. Geralt continued, unfazed. "Meditating when there's commotion around you is a useful skill. Also, your magic has been growing steadily since we met. Soon, it will reach levels where mere incantations won't be enough to manage it."

"What do you mean?" Thorfinn asked, his annoyance giving way to curiosity.

"Magic is volatile. It is chaos," Geralt began. "When a mage channels it, they create order from that chaos. But it's the mage's job to structure it. This is usually done through incantations or hand signs. The larger your pool of magic, the greater the concentration required to control it."

"Why does the amount of magic matter?" Thorfinn asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Because adding too much magic to a spell will overload it. You'll hurt yourself more than your enemy," Geralt explained. "Keep meditating. It will clear your mind and give you better control of yourself."

Thorfinn exhaled sharply. "Fine, I'll keep trying."

Geralt nodded, standing up straight. "One more thing. The other reason we're on this ship is because there's a Bruxa hidden among the passengers. Find it and kill it before we make landfall."

Thorfinn turned, his frustration bubbling to the surface again. "You could've mentioned that sooner."

Geralt ignored him, walking away.

"Bastard," Thorfinn growled under his breath, gripping the railing tightly.

...

Thorfinn slammed open the door to his cabin, causing Arwyn to jump out of her bed with a dagger in hand. When she saw it was him, she relaxed and threw a pillow at him.

"What's your problem? Open the door like a normal person," Arwyn said, irritation evident in her voice, before lying back down on her bed.

He ignored her, slamming the door shut behind him before walking over to his pack. He rummaged through it and pulled out the bestiary Geralt had given him. It was a shame he couldn't bring the Belmont Bestiary. That one was far thicker and included personal accounts of encounters with each creature. The one he had now was simpler, containing only general information about the creatures and their likely habitats. Still, it had blank spaces on each page for observations, which Thorfinn had already started filling in, including notes on the Yeti.

"What's the problem?" Arwyn asked, sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

"There's a Bruxa on the ship. We've been tasked with killing it before we make landfall," he replied, his eyes scanning the pages of the bestiary.

Arwyn shrugged. "Seems easy enough."

Thorfinn flipped through the pages until he found the section on the Bruxa. A grim expression formed on his face as he read the description.

During the first few months of traveling with Geralt, Thorfinn had gone over many of the creatures they might encounter. Geralt was a wealth of knowledge, and Thorfinn often took the opportunity to learn from him. One of the topics that had intrigued him was Arwyn's transformation after ingesting his blood. When Thorfinn asked about it, Geralt admitted he didn't have an answer but promised to find someone who might.

There was one incident, however, that had caught Geralt's attention more than any other. When Thorfinn and Arwyn described the man they had encountered in Bebbenburg, Geralt froze. He pressed them for every detail they could recall before concluding that the man was most likely a Revenant.

Geralt had explained that Revenants were servants of the True Vampires, an ancient and powerful race of monsters that appeared human. Encountering a True Vampire, he said, meant certain death or enslavement. Vampires could create Ghouls—humans addicted to their blood, granting minor abilities and limited immortality. Revenants, however, were a hybrid between vampires and humans, capable of surviving without their master's blood but still bound to serve them.

Geralt also told Thorfinn that vampiric blood was volatile and prone to mutations over millennia. These mutations had given rise to various vampire strains, including Bruxae. Bruxae were vampiric creatures that typically disguised themselves as beautiful women. Their true form, however, was that of a bipedal bat-like creature with sharp claws and fangs. Intelligent and instinctive, Bruxae possessed a limited form of hypnosis that preyed on those enthralled by their beauty.

Thorfinn relayed this information to Arwyn as he read from the book.

"How do we kill her without causing a slaughter?" Arwyn asked, her voice tinged with worry.

"Who cares? We'll identify the Bruxa and kill her," Thorfinn said, closing the book with a snap.

"We can't do that," Arwyn said, standing up and crossing her arms.

"We can and we will. If the fools on this ship get caught in the middle, that's their fault," he said, striding toward where his sword lay.

Arwyn stepped forward and grabbed his hand before he could reach it, her grip firm. Tension crackled between them as they locked eyes.

"Let go of my hand," Thorfinn said, his voice low, his gaze narrowing.

"If this creature is as strong as the Revenant then starting a fight on the boat is a foolish thing to do," She said trying to reason with him.

Thorfinn pulled his hand out of his grasp. "I am stronger than I was then, now the creature wouldn't stand a chance," he said before grabbing his sword again.

Arwyn grabbed his shoulder. "You're rushing again, you need to stop and think or you'll make a mistake just like you did on the mountain."

Thorfinn tutted. "I recall you being up there as well, and I don't remember you suggesting anything different."

"I never claimed to be the smart one," she replied crossing her arms.

Thorfinn was about to rebuke but in the end he just breathed heavily. "Fine we will plan it out so we don't risk killing anyone else," he said which caused a slight smile to form on Arwyns face.

"Good, now open the book again so we can read more about it," she said sitting back on the bed.

...

The next few days were filled with relentless study and preparation. Thorfinn spent hours poring over the bestiary and replaying every lesson Geralt had taught him about vampires and their kin. This creature, the Bruxa, was likely to be just as physically strong—if not stronger—than the Yeti, but it would be far more agile and cunning. Its intelligence and speed made it a far deadlier opponent. The best way to take it out would be with a single, well-placed strike. If they could drive a silver dagger into her back and through her heart before she knew they were a threat, the fight would be over before it began.

The problem, however, was finding her. They couldn't simply start eliminating every beautiful woman on the ship. That would draw the kind of attention they couldn't afford.

Thorfinn considered a plan, though it was unreliable at best. Ever since he had overdosed on the leviathan meat and woken up, he had discovered what could only be described as a sixth sense. On occasion, he could feel the presence of things without seeing them—people, walls, objects. It was faint and inconsistent, more like a whisper than a shout, and most times it refused to activate when he wanted it to. He had tried to get advice from Geralt, but the Witcher had only shrugged.

"I'm not a mage," Geralt had grunted. "Figure it out yourself."

Thorfinn had spent the last few months attempting to control this ability. He hoped that with practice, it could help him identify the Bruxa. The last time he managed to use it intentionally, it had shown him something strange. People appeared as outlines of light in his mind's eye. Older people emitted a dimmer glow, while those in their prime shone brightly. But Arwyn's light was different. It was at least four times brighter than anything he had seen back in Kattegat. He assumed it was because she was a werewolf, something distinctly unnatural in its own right.

If this sense worked, he reasoned, the Bruxa wouldn't be able to hide from him. Even if she could fool his eyes, she couldn't fool this. But Thorfinn knew better than to rely on something so unpredictable. They had a backup plan. Arwyn's heightened senses could detect scents most humans couldn't. The Bruxa fed on blood, which meant she would need to feast eventually. If they were vigilant, Arwyn might be able to pick up the scent of her next victim.

That was why Thorfinn now stood against the wall in the main hall of the ship, watching one of the nightly gatherings. These feasts were unlike anything he was used to back in Kattegat. They were both familiar and entirely foreign. The music was lively, but it wasn't the passengers singing—professional bards performed instead. The food was strange and unfamiliar, prepared in ways he had never seen. It didn't taste bad, but the portions were laughably small. And the dances... the dances were the strangest part of all. There was no wild, unrestrained movement like in Kattegat. Everything was formal and restricted, as if the dancers were following some invisible rules.

Thorfinn leaned against the wall, arms crossed, observing the crowd. He wore a neutral expression, but his mind was restless. The room was filled with potential suspects. Men and women moved between tables, laughing and drinking. Servants moved swiftly, refilling goblets and replacing empty plates. At a glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary. But Thorfinn knew better than to trust appearances. Somewhere among these people was a predator.

'I suppose I shouldn't be surprised,' he thought, scanning the room. Northumbria was just as strange to him as this place was, their customs were weird, it only made sense that the people of this land were just as strange. They worshiped the same god after all.

Across the room, Arwyn moved through the crowd. She wore a simple dress to blend in, though she looked as uncomfortable as he felt. She carried a goblet in one hand, swirling the liquid absently as she walked. Every now and then, she would pause near a group of people, sniffing discreetly before moving on. Thorfinn smirked slightly. She hated this just as much as he did.

'Good it's her fault we are doing this,' Thorfinn thought to himself. He wanted to just kill the bitch and get it over with, if they have to leave the ship that's even better, they can use his one and get to Constantinople even faster.

Their plan for the night was simple, observe, wait, and hope for a mistake. If the Bruxa slipped up—whether by feeding or revealing her true nature—they would act swiftly. If nothing happened, they would continue the same process the following night. Thorfinn hated the waiting, but he had agreed not to rush in blindly. He also didn't want to see Geralts smug face when he would tell him he failed.

Arwyn eventually made her way over to him, her expression as neutral as possible, though he could tell she was irritated. "Anything?" he asked.

"Nothing yet," she replied quietly. "These people reek of strong flowers and wine. It's hard to tell."

"Keep trying," he said, his eyes still scanning the room.

She huffed but nodded, moving back into the crowd.

Thorfinn turned his attention back to the gathering. His gaze settled on a woman seated at a table near the corner of the room. She was laughing softly, her hand resting on a man's arm as he spoke. She was beautiful, no doubt, but so were many of the women here. Still, something about her drew his attention. He couldn't say why. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to focus on that strange sixth sense. He felt the room around him—its walls, the people, the flickering light of the candles. But when he tried to hone in on the woman, his concentration broke. Frustrated, he opened his eyes and let out a slow breath. It was like trying to grab hold of smoke.

'Damn it,' he thought. He would have to wait.

The sound of soft footsteps approached Thorfinn, drawing his attention momentarily from the crowd. He turned his head slightly as a woman came into view. She was striking, with long dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders and piercing blue eyes that seemed to catch the light of the chandeliers. Her dress was elegant, made of rich fabric that hugged her form and flowed gracefully to the floor. It was clear she was someone of importance—or at least someone who wanted to appear that way.

She stopped a few steps away from him, her hands lightly clasped in front of her. "Pourquoi êtes-vous seul ici, monsieur? Une fête comme celle-ci est faite pour se mélanger, non?" (Why are you standing alone here, sir? A party like this is meant for mingling, no?)

Thorfinn glanced at her briefly, his arms still crossed. His tone was curt. "Je préfère observer." (I prefer to observe.)

The woman tilted her head slightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Observer quoi? Ces gens ennuyeux? Vous semblez bien trop sérieux pour un tel rassemblement." (Observe what? These boring people? You seem far too serious for such a gathering.)

Thorfinn didn't respond immediately. His eyes flicked back to the crowd, scanning for any sign of the Bruxa. He could feel her eyes lingering on him, and it irritated him. He didn't have time for idle conversation or whatever game she was playing.

"Je suis ici pour une raison, pas pour me divertir," he said bluntly, his tone flat. (I'm here for a reason, not to entertain myself.)

Her smile widened, undeterred by his demeanor. "Une raison? Maintenant, je suis curieuse. Quel genre d'homme vient à une fête et ne s'amuse pas? Peut-être êtes-vous un espion, ou un homme en mission?" she said, her tone teasing. (A reason? Now I'm curious. What kind of man comes to a party and doesn't enjoy himself? Perhaps you're a spy, or a man on a mission?)

Thorfinn exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience wearing thin. "Ce n'est pas vos affaires," he replied without looking at her. (That's none of your business.)

The woman stepped closer, her perfume faint but noticeable. It wasn't unpleasant, but it distracted him from the scents he was trying to focus on. "Oh, mais tout le monde ici est curieux. Un homme comme vous, seul, silencieux... Vous attirez l'attention, monsieur." (Oh, but everyone here is curious. A man like you, alone, silent... You draw attention, sir.)

"Je ne suis pas ici pour attirer l'attention," he said, his tone sharp. (I'm not here to draw attention.)

The woman's smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered. "Alors, pourquoi êtes-vous ici? Peut-être que je peux vous aider." (Then why are you here? Perhaps I can help you.)

Thorfinn narrowed his eyes. Her persistence was grating. He didn't trust her intentions, and the way she kept pressing him only added to his annoyance. "Je n'ai pas besoin de votre aide," he said curtly. (I don't need your help.)

She raised an eyebrow, her smile softening. "Quel dommage. Je pensais que peut-être vous pourriez avoir besoin de compagnie. Mais je vois que je me suis trompée," she said with a small shrug, though her tone carried a hint of amusement. (What a shame. I thought perhaps you might need company. But I see I was mistaken.)

Thorfinn didn't respond, turning his attention back to the crowd. He could feel her watching him for a few moments longer before she finally stepped away. He exhaled slowly, trying to refocus his thoughts. Her interruption had thrown him off, and the lingering scent of her perfume didn't help.

'Why are people like this?' he thought irritably. Social gatherings were bad enough, but the pointless games and flirtations only made it worse. He reminded himself to stay sharp. If the Bruxa was here, she wouldn't wait for him to recover from distractions.

The night dragged on, and despite their efforts, Thorfinn and Arwyn found nothing that pointed to the Bruxa. They moved through the gathering, scrutinizing every guest and corner of the room, but no one stood out as suspicious. Thorfinn's frustration grew with every passing moment. He could feel the stares of the passengers who noticed him prowling, but he ignored them. By the time the gathering ended and the crowds dispersed, they were no closer to their target than when they had started.

When Thorfinn returned to their cabin, Arwyn was already sitting on her bed, removing her boots. She looked up when he entered and immediately noticed his scowl.

"Nothing?" she asked, her tone matching his irritation.

"Nothing," Thorfinn said flatly, slamming the door behind him. He dropped his sword and pack onto the small table in the corner before sitting down on his bed.

Arwyn sighed, leaning back against the wall. "I don't understand it. She has to be here somewhere."

"She's hiding," Thorfinn said. "If we can't find her soon, she'll strike. We can't wait for her to make the first move."

Arwyn nodded, but her frustration was clear. "Maybe we're missing something," she said. "Geralt always said these things are clever."

Thorfinn grunted, leaning forward and running his hand through his hair. "She blends in too well. There's nothing to set her apart from the others. We're wasting time."

Arwyn tilted her head, watching him for a moment. "You looked like you were having an interesting time earlier," she said casually.

Thorfinn glanced at her, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"The woman," Arwyn said, her lips curving into a faint smirk. "The one who was talking to you at the gathering. Dark hair, fancy dress. Who was she?"

Thorfinn leaned back, his expression unchanged. "Just some annoying person who wouldn't leave me alone."

Arwyn raised an eyebrow. "Annoying, huh? What did she want?"

"To talk. I didn't care to listen," Thorfinn said, his tone flat.

Arwyn laughed. "Of course you didn't. Let me guess—you tried to get her to leave, and she didn't take the hint?"

Thorfinn shrugged. "Pretty much."

Arwyn shook her head, lying back on her bed and folding her arms behind her head. "It's not surprising, though. You're handsome. People like that sort of thing."

Thorfinn frowned, glancing at her. "It's annoying."

Arwyn laughed again, a little louder this time. "I figured you'd say that."

Thorfinn didn't respond, his gaze shifting to the ceiling. The room fell into silence, save for the muffled sounds of the ship creaking and the distant hum of the waves. Arwyn's breathing slowed as she settled into her bed.

"Goodnight, Thorfinn," she said quietly, her voice softer now.

"Goodnight," he replied, his tone low.

As Arwyn drifted off to sleep, Thorfinn sat on the edge of his bed, still staring at the ceiling. Eventually tiredness started to overwhelm him and he lay down on his bed closing his eyes and thinking of Rebekah and Freydis. He hoped this night he would be able to dream of them.

...

Thorfinn was jerked awake by a sudden touch on his shoulder. His instincts took over before his eyes even opened. His hand shot out, grabbing the wrist of whoever dared disturb him. With a swift motion, he twisted the arm, flipping the intruder onto the bed. In one smooth movement, his free hand reached under his pillow and pulled out a dagger, pressing its cold edge against the intruder's throat. It wasn't until his vision cleared that he recognized the face staring up at him. It was Arwyn, her blonde hair loose and her nightdress crumpled from the sudden movement. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling as her wide eyes met his. Thorfinn froze for a moment, registering the position they were in—he was on top of her, his legs pinning hers, her body trapped beneath him.

He pulled the dagger back immediately, muttering, "Damn it, I'm sorry." He pushed himself off her and stood at the side of the bed, sheathing the dagger. His heart was still pounding, not from fear but from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

Arwyn sat up, adjusting her nightdress and shooting him a glare. "That's how you wake up?" she asked, her tone sharp but not entirely serious. "You nearly took my head off."

Thorfinn crossed his arms, his gaze still wary. "Don't sneak up on me in the middle of the night."

"I wouldn't have to if you weren't such a heavy sleeper," she shot back, brushing herself off. "And I didn't sneak. I shook your shoulder."

Thorfinn exhaled through his nose. "What do you want? It's not even dawn."

Arwyn's expression grew serious. "I can smell blood."

That got his attention. He grabbed his sword belt from the table and started strapping it on. "Where?"

"Farther down the ship," Arwyn said, already moving to retrieve her own short sword. "It's faint, but fresh."

Thorfinn handed her her cloak, then grabbed a small pouch from his pack. He dipped his hand into it, pulling out a vial of thick oil. "Vampiric oil," he said, coating his blade in the slick substance. "Do the same."

Arwyn took the vial, applying the oil to her weapon before securing it at her side. As they finished preparing, she glanced at him. "Should we wake Geralt? Just in case?"

Thorfinn shook his head. "No. This is our task. We don't need him for this."

Arwyn didn't argue, though she looked uncertain. They slipped out of the cabin, keeping their movements quiet as they navigated the ship. The halls were dimly lit, the faint creak of wood and the sound of waves the only noises. Arwyn led the way, his footsteps silent against the wooden floor. Thorfinn followed close behind. The scent of blood grew stronger as they descended into the cargo hold. Thorfinn stopped at the bottom of the stairs, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. Arwyn moved ahead slightly, her nose twitching as she pinpointed the source. In the center of the room, sprawled on the floor, was a man's body. Blood pooled around his neck, staining his shirt and the wooden boards beneath him.

Arwyn knelt by the body, placing two fingers against his neck. She checked for any sign of life but found none. "He's gone," she said quietly, pulling her hand back.

Thorfinn cursed under his breath, his eyes scanning the room. "We were too late."

As he spoke, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Instinctively, he ducked just as an arrow whizzed past where his head had been a moment ago. It embedded itself into a wooden crate with a dull thud. Thorfinn spun toward the direction it came from and saw a man standing at the top of the stairs. His face was blank, his eyes unfocused, and his lips moved as he muttered over and over, "My queen... my queen... my queen."

The man stumbled forward, clutching a dagger. He charged at Thorfinn with clumsy movements, his muttering growing louder. Thorfinn stepped to the side, deflecting the dagger with his palm and twisting the man's wrist until the weapon fell from his grip. Before the attacker could react, Thorfinn drove his fist into the man's stomach, Thorfinn didn't stop there. Using a combat technique Geralt had drilled into him, he grabbed the man's arm and leveraged his weight, flipping him over and slamming him to the ground. The man groaned, but Thorfinn silenced him with another hard punch to the jaw, knocking him unconscious.

Standing over the prone figure, Thorfinn wiped his hands on his trousers. "What the hell is this?" he muttered, looking at Arwyn.

Arwyn stood near the body, her eyes scanning the room for more threats. "He's not acting on his own," she said. "Something—or someone—is controlling him."

Thorfinn frowned, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. "The Bruxa."

"Shit..." Thorfinn muttered. "It means she knows someone was watching her and this was likely a way for her to find out who it was specifically." The bitch had managed to outsmart them, they were now at an even greater disadvantage as the Bruxa knew their identities but they didn't know hers.

"We should get Geralt," Arwyn said as she inspected the cargo bay. She felt vulnerable at the moment, she had never forgotten how the Revenant had nearly killed her, and that was in her wolf form, so needless to say she feared the Bruxa a little bit.

"No we don't need him," Thorfinn said as he turned on his heel and went to leave the cargo hold.

"Stop being stubborn," Arwyn said as she followed. "She knows who we are, she can strike any time she wants to, it's gone above our ability to handle to."

"We can still deal with it, she hasn't won yet," Thorfinn replied.

Thorfinn clenched his fists, muttering curses under his breath. "She's ahead of us, she knew she was being watched and set a trap," he said, his voice low. "Now she knows who we are, and we're still in the dark about her." The realization gnawed at him. The Bruxa had managed to outmaneuver them, turning the situation to her advantage.

"We need to tell Geralt," Arwyn said, inspecting the cargo bay for any other signs of activity. She glanced at the unconscious man on the floor and the bloodied corpse. The thought of facing the Bruxa filled her with unease. The encounter with the Revenant was still fresh in her memory, a reminder of how dangerous these creatures could be, even for her in her wolf form.

"No," Thorfinn said firmly, spinning on his heel and heading for the stairs. "We don't need him."

Arwyn followed, her tone sharp with frustration. "Stop being stubborn. She knows who we are now. She can attack us whenever she wants. This is beyond what we can handle."

Thorfinn glanced back at her as they ascended the stairs. "She hasn't won yet," he said. "We can still deal with this ourselves."

Arwyn sighed, shaking her head but choosing to let it go for now. She didn't agree with him, but she also knew how relentless Thorfinn could be. If things became too dangerous, she would go to Geralt herself, regardless of Thorfinn's objections.

Once they returned to their cabin, the tension between them had not lessened. Arwyn paced for a moment, then dropped onto her bed. "We need a plan," she muttered, but her exhaustion was evident.

"We'll sleep in shifts," Thorfinn said, leaning his sword against the wall before sitting down beside it. "You sleep first. I'll keep watch."

Arwyn raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. "Fine," she said, pulling the blanket over herself. Within minutes, her breathing evened out, and she drifted into sleep.

Thorfinn stayed seated, his sword resting across his lap. His eyes scanned the dim room, but his thoughts were elsewhere. This kind of fight was alien to him. In Kattegat, combat was straightforward. You met your enemy head-on, strength against strength. Here, it was all about deception, patience, and outsmarting your opponent. The witchers thrived on preparation and strategy, a skill set Thorfinn was still adjusting to. He found it frustrating, yet he knew it was necessary.

He thought about the Bruxa, trying to piece together what he knew. She was intelligent, manipulative, and likely blending in with the passengers. Identifying her wouldn't be simple. His mind raced through possibilities, searching for any clue that could narrow down the suspects.

A thought struck him—silver. Vampiric creatures avoided silver because of its harmful effects on them. It was possible the Bruxa wouldn't wear silver jewelry, something he could use to his advantage. Another idea followed. If she was using her hypnotic abilities to influence others, her victims might act strangely, perhaps overly protective or infatuated. That could help him identify her.

Thorfinn's jaw tightened as he considered his next move. He reached into his pouch, pulling out a few silver coins. Holding them in his palm, he focused, forming a white sphere in his other hand. The coins began to shake, their surfaces cracking before they split into small, jagged pieces. He examined them, satisfied with the result. If he could narrow down the list of suspects, he could slip these shards into their food or drink. The amount of silver wasn't lethal, but it would cause a reaction in the Bruxa, exposing her.

He set the shards aside and leaned back, letting his thoughts settle. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was something. He spent the rest of the night refining his strategy, going over every possible scenario in his mind. By the time the hours passed and Arwyn stirred in her bed, he was ready to hand over the watch.

Thorfinn shook her shoulder gently. "Your turn," he said.

Arwyn groaned, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "Anything happen?"

"No," Thorfinn said, standing and stretching. "But we'll need to move fast tomorrow. I've got a plan."

Arwyn watched him for a moment before nodding. "Get some sleep."

Thorfinn nodded back, lying down on his bed and closing his eyes. His grip on his dagger remained firm as he drifted into a restless sleep.

...

Thorfinn tightened the belt on his trousers, glancing at the mirror in the cramped cabin. The fine clothes Geralt had insisted they purchase still felt strange to him. The fabric was softer than anything he'd worn before, but the cut restricted his movement in a way that made him uneasy. He adjusted the collar of his tunic, then tugged at the sleeves.

Arwyn stood in the corner, brushing her hair. She wore a deep green dress with intricate embroidery at the edges. It was far simpler than some of the extravagant gowns worn by the ship's wealthier passengers, but it suited her in a way that made her look out of place among common folk. She caught him looking and raised an eyebrow. "What? You've got something to say?"

"No," Thorfinn muttered, pulling on his boots. "Just trying to figure out if you'll actually listen this time."

Arwyn smirked, but there was no malice in it. "I always listen. Doesn't mean I agree." She turned back to the mirror, securing her hair into a braid. "So, what's the plan tonight? Another game of sneaking in shadows and glaring at strangers?"

"No," Thorfinn said as he stood. "The opposite. This time, we draw attention to ourselves."

Arwyn laughed, the sound sharp in the small cabin. "You? Draw attention? Good luck. You're about as charming as a rock."

Thorfinn scowled and gave her a shove. She stumbled backward, arms flailing as she nearly tipped toward the edge of the bed. For a moment, Thorfinn thought she might actually fall, and a flicker of amusement crossed his face. But Arwyn caught herself, steadying her footing and glaring at him.

"You'll regret that," she said, her tone flat.

Thorfinn didn't wait for her to make good on the threat. He turned and strode out the door, the sound of her hurried footsteps following behind him.

The ship's main deck had been transformed once again into a gathering space. Lanterns hung from the masts, casting warm light over the crowd. Music drifted through the air, accompanied by the murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. Thorfinn and Arwyn stood at the edge of the festivities, surveying the scene.

"You remember what to look for?" Thorfinn asked, his voice low.

Arwyn nodded, adjusting the small pouch at her waist. "Anyone acting unnaturally. Anyone without silver. Anyone too interested in us."

Thorfinn handed her a small cloth bag. Inside were the shavings of the silver coins he had broken the night before. "Slip these into food or drink if you can. It'll cause a reaction, but it won't kill her."

Arwyn opened the bag and peered inside. "Got it. What about you?"

"I'll do the same," Thorfinn said. "And keep an eye on anyone who seems too close to the dead man from last night."

"Fine," Arwyn said, tucking the bag into her belt. She glanced at him. "Try not to scare everyone off before I can test them."

Thorfinn ignored the jab and stepped into the crowd. He moved, scanning faces and hands for anything unusual. His gaze lingered on jewelry, searching for the absence of silver. He greeted people with short nods, keeping his responses brief to avoid unnecessary attention. The sooner they found the Bruxa, the sooner they could end this. Arwyn, meanwhile, had taken a different approach. She smiled and engaged with the guests, her charm drawing people into conversation. She moved gracefully between groups, subtly slipping small bits of silver into cups when the opportunity arose. Occasionally, she caught Thorfinn's eye across the deck and nodded slightly to indicate progress.

Thorfinn's attention was drawn to a man in a richly embroidered coat standing near the edge of the gathering. His movements were stiff, his face pale, and his eyes seemed unfocused. Thorfinn approached, pretending to grab a drink from a nearby table. As he reached for a goblet, he discreetly inspected the man, his expression was blank and so was his gaze. It was clear he was under some form of control, but he wasn't close to anyone, so it provided no clues. He'd have to keep an eye on the man and see if any women approach him.

Across the deck, Arwyn had struck up a conversation with a group of women. She laughed at something one of them said, her fingers brushing the rim of a wine glass as she slipped a sliver of silver into the liquid. The woman took a sip moments later, her face remaining unchanged. Arwyn sighed inwardly and moved on.

The night dragged on, each failed attempt adding to Thorfinn's frustration. The music grew louder, the crowd more boisterous, but neither he nor Arwyn had found any clear signs of their target. Thorfinn clenched his fists, resisting the urge to storm back to their cabin.

As the gathering began to wind down, Arwyn approached him, her expression unreadable. "Nothing," she said simply.

Thorfinn nodded, his jaw tight. "Same."

"What now?" she asked.

"We keep going," Thorfinn said. "She's here. We just need to keep looking."

Arwyn sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Fine.

As Thorfinn scanned the crowd, a familiar figure stepped into his path. The woman from the previous night—the one who had tried to talk to him. She wore a crimson dress that clung to her frame, her dark hair styled elegantly. Her blue eyes gleamed with interest as they met his, and a faint smile played on her lips.

"You again," she said in French, her voice warm and inviting. "Still brooding, I see."

Thorfinn's jaw tightened. He had no patience for games tonight. "What do you want?"

She stepped closer, holding a goblet in her hand. "To talk. Is that so much to ask?"

"I'm busy," he said curtly.

"You always are, it seems." Her gaze lingered on him, studying his face. "You're different from the others here. Stronger. Quieter. More dangerous."

Thorfinn's eyes narrowed. "What's your point?"

Her smile widened. "No point, really. I just find you... intriguing."

Thorfinn felt a spark of irritation. He didn't need this distraction. "I'm not here to entertain your curiosity."

"Of course not," she said smoothly. "But perhaps I could change your mind."

Before he could respond, she reached out and placed a hand lightly on his arm. Her touch was cold, almost unnaturally so. "You're not like the others on this ship. You don't belong here any more than I do."

Thorfinn pulled his arm away, his voice low and firm. "You don't know anything about me."

Her smile didn't falter, but her eyes gleamed with something darker. "Maybe not. But I'd like to."

Thorfinn stepped back, his grip tightening on the goblet in his hand. He glanced at her neck and wrists—no jewelry, no silver. His instincts screamed at him to be on guard.

"Enjoy the party," he said flatly, turning to walk away.

Her voice stopped him. "I hope to see you again, Thorfinn."

He froze for a moment, then continued into the crowd. His mind raced. He hadn't given her his name.

He walked away from her as causally as he could before looking for Arwyn. He found Arwyn near the musicians, her pouch of silver nearly empty. He pulled her aside, his expression dark.

"She's here," he said.

"Who?" Arwyn asked, her eyes narrowing.

"The woman from last night. The one who wouldn't leave me alone," he said.

Arwyn's gaze moved through the crowd until she spotted the crimson dress. "You're sure?"

"She knows my name," he said. "And she's not wearing silver."

Arwyn's lips pressed into a thin line. "What's the plan?"

"We watch her," Thorfinn said. So they stood at the edge of the deck, their eyes fixed on the woman in crimson who sat alone at a table near the center of the gathering. Her posture was relaxed, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. Her smile was faint, but there was something unsettling about it. She raised her glass to her lips and took a slow sip, her gaze never wavering from them.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and ominous. Thorfinn's eyes darted to the horizon through the open deck doors. A dark line of clouds crept toward the ship, lightning flashing within them. The wind picked up, tugging at the edges of the canopy covering the gathering.

"This isn't good," Arwyn said, her voice quiet but firm.

Thorfinn nodded, his jaw tightening. "It's moving too fast. That storm isn't natural."

They both turned their attention back to the woman. She had tilted her head slightly, as though amused, and now she licked the rim of her glass, her blue eyes glinting in the flickering lantern light. The sight sent a chill through Thorfinn, though he refused to show it.

He clenched his fists, considering their options. "We should take her now," he said in a low voice.

Arwyn put a hand on his arm. "Not here. Look around you." Her eyes darted to the crowded room. "We'll have a riot on our hands. She'll use the chaos to escape."

"She's not running. She wants us to come to her," Thorfinn replied, his tone edged with frustration.

"That's exactly why we wait," Arwyn countered. "We'll get her when she's alone."

Another rumble of thunder, louder this time, interrupted their conversation. The ship rocked slightly as the first heavy waves hit its hull. Crew members began moving through the gathering, urging people to go below deck.

"Ladies and gentlemen," one of the crew called out, raising his voice to be heard over the growing wind. "For your safety, please proceed to the lower levels. The storm is approaching fast."

Passengers murmured in concern as they began to disperse, making their way toward the stairs. Thorfinn and Arwyn stayed where they were, watching as the woman stood gracefully and moved with the crowd. She glanced back at them once, her smile lingering, before disappearing below deck.

"Let's move," Thorfinn said, his tone sharp.

The corridors below deck were dimly lit, the lanterns swaying with the motion of the ship. The air was damp and heavy, carrying the smell of seawater and oil. Passengers shuffled nervously, their voices hushed as the sound of the storm grew louder outside. Thorfinn and Arwyn trailed behind the woman, careful to keep her within sight. She moved with purpose, her steps steady despite the rocking of the ship. As the crowd thinned, they quickened their pace, closing the distance.

Suddenly, she turned a corner, and when they followed, she was gone.

"Damn it," Thorfinn muttered under his breath, scanning the corridor.

Arwyn sniffed the air but shook her head. "I don't have her scent. There are too many people, too many smells."

Thorfinn reached into his coat and pulled out a handkerchief. "What about this?"

Arwyn raised an eyebrow. "You lifted that off her?"

"She was distracted," he said, handing it to her. "Will it work?"

She brought it to her nose and took a deep breath. After a moment, she nodded. "I've got it."

"Good. Let's go," Thorfinn said, drawing his sword. The sound of the blade sliding free was sharp in the quiet corridor.

Arwyn followed suit, gripping the hilt of her short sword. Her eyes narrowed as she tore a strip from the hem of her dress, exposing her legs for better movement. "Let's hope this doesn't ruin my ability to blend in," she said dryly.

Thorfinn smirked faintly. "It wasn't blending in before."

She shot him a glare but said nothing, focusing instead on the trail ahead. They both rushed towards their cabin first gathering their weapons and other things before following her trail. They wouldn't have even needed to have Arwyn track her if they made it this far, the Bruxa had left a trail of bodies leading straight to the Cargo Hold.

Once they got to the entrance they both drew their weapons. "You ready," he asked Arwyn.

She nodded. "No turning back now, let's do it," she replied.

They both walked down the steps of the cargo hold the dim light illuminating even more bodies as they walked down.

They didn't have time to look around as as soon as they stepped off the staircase the Bruxa launched herself at Thorfinn with lightning speed. Her claws swiped at his chest, but he barely managed to raise his sword in time to deflect the blow. The impact sent him staggering backward, and the force of her strike rattled his bones. Arwyn leapt in from the side, her blade arcing toward the creature's neck, but the Bruxa ducked, her wings spreading wide to propel her across the room.

"Is that all you have? A fumbling Viking and a mutt?" the Bruxa sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. She landed effortlessly on a crate, her dark eyes glowing in the flickering lantern light. "I had hoped to test myself against a true Witcher."

Thorfinn ignored the taunt, his focus sharpening. He lunged forward, his sword slicing through the air, but the Bruxa moved faster. She twisted around him, her claws aiming for his back. Thorfinn spun just in time, forming a quick sign with his free hand. A shimmering shield enveloped him, and her claws collided with it, sending a shockwave through the room. The shield shattered, but it gave him enough time to counter with a horizontal slash that grazed her chest. The Bruxa hissed, black blood dripping from the wound. "A lucky hit," she said, her tone mocking. "You won't get another."

Arwyn darted in, her movements swift and aggressive. Her blade slashed toward the Bruxa's legs, but the creature jumped, her wings flapping to lift her above the strike. Arwyn snarled, her claws extending as she shifted partially into her wolf form. She grabbed a nearby crate and hurled it at the Bruxa, but the creature batted it away effortlessly.

"Pathetic," the Bruxa said with a laugh. "You're nothing more than insects to me."

The ship rocked violently as the storm outside intensified. Waves pounded against the hull, the sound echoing through the cargo bay. Lanterns swung wildly, casting shadows that made it harder to track the Bruxa's movements. She took full advantage of the shadows, disappearing into the shadows before reappearing behind Thorfinn.

Her claws raked across his back, slicing through his armor and drawing blood. Thorfinn stumbled forward, gritting his teeth against the pain. He turned and thrust his sword, but the Bruxa dodged, her speed making her a blur. She lashed out with a kick, sending him crashing into a stack of barrels.

"Do you see now how hopeless this is?" the Bruxa said, her voice filled with disdain. "You were fools to challenge me."

Arwyn growled, her transformation complete. She lunged at the Bruxa, her powerful claws swiping at the creature's face. The Bruxa dodged, but Arwyn followed up with a vicious bite aimed at her shoulder. The Bruxa twisted, avoiding the attack, and retaliated with a punch that sent Arwyn skidding across the floor.

Thorfinn pushed himself to his feet, his vision blurry. He formed another sign, igniting a burst of fire that shot toward the Bruxa. She smirked and leapt aside, the flames narrowly missing her. The fire struck a crate behind her, and with a loud boom, the crate exploded, releasing a thick cloud of smoke that filled the cargo bay.

The Bruxa laughed as she circled them, unaffected by the smoke at first. "Did you think that would stop me? Your tricks are as feeble as your skills."

Thorfinn's grip tightened on his sword. He glanced at Arwyn, who had recovered and was circling to flank the Bruxa. The creature's confidence was unnerving, but he kept his focus. The smoke began to spread, and the Bruxa's movements slowed slightly. She blinked, her glowing eyes narrowing.

"What...?" she muttered, coughing faintly. Her arrogance faltered as she took another step forward, her wings folding against her back. She coughed again, this time more violently, and stumbled slightly. "What have you done?"

Thorfinn smirked faintly, wiping blood from his mouth. "Figured you'd bring us here. Or that we'd end up here ourselves."

The Bruxa's eyes widened as realization dawned. "You—" Her words were cut off by another violent cough, black blood splattering from her mouth. The silver-laced smoke was taking effect, seeping into her lungs and weakening her. She stumbled again, her movements losing their fluidity.

"You're not so untouchable now," Thorfinn said, stepping forward. He raised his sword, his expression cold.

The Bruxa roared, a guttural sound that echoed through the cargo bay. In desperation, she lunged at him, her claws swiping wildly. Thorfinn ducked under her attack, his sword slicing upward to catch her wing. The blade tore through the thin membrane, and the Bruxa shrieked in agony, falling to one knee.

Arwyn seized the opportunity, leaping onto the creature's back and sinking her claws into her shoulders. The Bruxa thrashed violently, trying to shake her off, but Arwyn held firm, her teeth bared in a snarl. Thorfinn moved in quickly, his sword flashing in the dim light as he slashed at the Bruxa's legs, severing a tendon and forcing her fully to the ground.

The Bruxa coughed and spat blood, her strength fading rapidly. "You... won't... win," she rasped, her voice barely audible.

Thorfinn stepped over her, his sword poised above her neck. "You've already lost."

With a swift motion, he brought the blade down, severing her head from her body. The cargo bay fell silent except for the sound of the storm raging outside. Thorfinn exhaled heavily, his sword dripping with black blood. Arwyn released the creature's shoulders and stepped back. Thorfinn also stepped back from the Bruxa's lifeless body, breathing heavily as he turned to Arwyn. She stood nearby, her shoulders rising and falling as she shifted back into her human form. Her hair clung to her damp face, and there were scratches on her arms and legs. He stepped closer, wiping his sword on the edge of his tunic.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his tone gruff but concerned.

Arwyn shook her head. "I'm fine," she said, her voice strained. "More bruised than anything."

Thorfinn nodded, sheathing his sword. The sound of creaking wood and the rush of water growing louder made them both turn. The ship groaned again, tilting sharply as another wave crashed into it. They looked toward the stairs, their way out, but water was already pouring down, sloshing across the floor and pooling around their boots.

"The ship's taking on water," Arwyn said, panic creeping into her voice.

"We need to move," Thorfinn said, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the stairs. They stumbled as the ship listed again, nearly throwing them off balance. The lanterns swung violently, casting erratic light on the walls. The sound of splintering wood came from above as the storm intensified. Another massive wave struck the ship, causing crates and barrels to roll across the cargo bay. Thorfinn ducked as a loose beam fell from the ceiling, crashing into the waterlogged floor behind him.

They fought their way up the stairs, gripping the railings as the ship tilted again. The roar of the storm greeted them as they emerged on deck, the rain lashing against their faces. The deck was in chaos—passengers and crew were scrambling, some attempting to lower lifeboats while others clung desperately to the rigging.

"We need to get to a lifeboat!" Arwyn shouted over the howling wind.

Thorfinn nodded, pulling her toward the side of the ship. They pushed through the crowd, the deck slippery beneath their feet. Another wave slammed into the ship, and they both fell, sliding several feet before catching themselves on the railing.

"Hold on!" Thorfinn shouted, gripping the railing tightly as the ship bucked beneath them.

They reached the lifeboats, but before they could climb in, another wave struck, this one larger than the last. The impact shattered part of the railing and swept them both off their feet. Thorfinn grabbed for Arwyn, but the force of the wave tore them apart, throwing them into the raging sea. The freezing water hit him like a hammer, forcing the air from his lungs. He struggled to orient himself, his limbs heavy as the current dragged him under. He surfaced briefly, gasping for air, before another wave pulled him under. He caught a glimpse of Arwyn being carried away by the current, her figure disappearing into the storm.

Thorfinn fought to stay afloat, but the churning sea offered no mercy. The last thing he remembered was the taste of saltwater filling his mouth and the roar of the storm fading into silence.

...

Thorfinn's eyes fluttered open, the harsh sunlight blinding him. He groaned, rolling onto his back, his body aching from head to toe. Sand stuck to his wet clothes, and the sound of waves lapping against the shore filled his ears. He blinked, squinting against the brightness as he propped himself up on his elbows.

He looked around, his gaze sweeping over the endless expanse of sand and the blue sky above. The air was dry and hot, a stark contrast to the stormy sea he had been thrown into. He turned his head and saw the wreckage of the ship scattered along the beach—broken planks, barrels, and bits of cloth. Pushing himself to his feet, he winced at the pain in his ribs and legs. His sword was still strapped to his back, but his pack was missing. He scanned the area, searching for any sign of Arwyn, but the beach was empty.

He cursed under his breath, the sound carrying into the still air. "Geralt, you

bastard," he muttered. "Should've taken my damn ship."

(AN: Pretty long chapter. Anyway next chapter will also be long and will have Arwyn and Thorfinn developing their relationship and talking about their issues. By the end of it we will find out whether they will be friends or enemies. Btw for those wondering Geralt managed to get off the ship and assumed the others were fine and would meet him there. Also Thorfinn is going to find something important the next chapter. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter.)

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