Chapter-2

Kael exhaled slowly, his grip on the dagger easing as the last echoes of the fight faded into the ruined chamber. Silence returned. The twisted creature at his feet had stopped moving, its grotesque form already beginning to break down, as if its very existence had been unnatural.

He crouched beside it, watching as the dark ichor bled into the cracks of the stone floor. The scent was sharp, metallic with an undertone of rot, but there was something else—something alchemical. I frowned. This was no ordinary monster.

His fingers brushed against its dissolving flesh, feeling the unnatural texture beneath his touch. Soft, almost rubbery—like something grown rather than born. The bones beneath were strange, too: thinner, more flexible than those of a wyvern or ghoul. His mind, still a chaotic mess of fragmented memories, churned at the sight.

'What are you?'

He reached lower, towards where its chest cavity had been. His dagger made quick work of the softening hide, peeling back layers of unnatural flesh. His movements were precise, controlled—not those of an amateur hunter, but of a Witcher trained to understand the unnatural. And then he saw it.

A sigil.

Not burned into the flesh, nor branded onto the bone. It was fused within, woven into the very structure of the creature. A symbol etched in a language he could barely remember, buried in the deepest corners of his broken mind. His breath slowed. This creature wasn't a simple monster. It was made. And that meant someone—somewhere—had created it.

Kael wiped the black ichor from his hands and stood, glancing around the ruined laboratory. The shattered glass, the broken alchemical equipment, the rusted chains along the walls… He had woken up in a graveyard of forgotten experiments.

But if this thing had survived all these years... What else was still down here?

Kael wiped his dagger clean against the remnants of his tattered sleeve, watching as the black ichor smeared across the fabric. The body was still there, but it wouldn't be for long. The creature's flesh continued to break down, sinking into the floor in unnatural decay. Soon, there would be nothing left but a dark stain and a faint, acrid smell.

It was time to move.

He sheathed his dagger and exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. His body still ached from the weight of forgotten years, but movement was getting easier. Every step, every breath, every shift of muscle brought another ghost of a memory clawing back from the depths.

A sword cutting through the air—his hand steady on the hilt.A voice—calm, measured—guiding his strikes.A cold night under a sky full of stars, the scent of alchemy thick in the air.

This life. These memories. They were his. And yet they weren't.

Kael shook the thought away and turned his attention to the room. The ruin around him was a tomb of knowledge, abandoned and forgotten. But not everything had been lost to time.

His red eyes scanned the debris, searching for anything of use.

Weapons. Armor. Potions. Anything.

He started with the overturned tables near the far end of the chamber. Most of the glass vials had shattered long ago, leaving only dried remnants of strange mixtures. Some he recognized, mutagen stabilizers, alchemical bases, but others were beyond his fragmented knowledge. Did I know these once?

His fingers brushed over a rusted scalpel, its blade still faintly etched with runes. Surgical tools. The creature had been an experiment—perhaps he had been, too.

Pushing the thought aside, he moved to a set of old cabinets built into the stone wall. The wood had rotted, the doors barely hanging on their hinges, but when he pried one open, something solid clattered inside. I reached in and pulled out a leather satchel, heavy with contents.

'What do we have here?'

Undoing the brittle straps, he poured the contents onto a nearby stone slab. A collection of small vials rolled out, alongside a few preserved herbs and a bundle of aged parchment. Potions. Some still intact.

He lifted one of the vials, holding it against the faint glow of the chamber's decayed alchemical lanterns. The liquid inside had darkened, thickened, but not fully spoiled. Swallowing an unidentified potion was a risk, but if these were Witcher brews… they might be exactly what he needed. He set them aside and turned his attention to the parchments. Faded, fragile, but still legible. He ran his fingers over the ink, feeling the weight of words written long before his awakening.

A research log.

"Subject 17 remains stable, though prolonged hibernation has led to unforeseen effects. Unlike prior trials, this one has fully assimilated the mutagenic process without severe degradation. This confirms the hypothesis: a properly prepared host may sustain indefinite dormancy."

"A success, but at what cost? The others… they did not wake. The experiment is to be sealed. There will be no more trials."

"Kaer Morhen has fallen. Our knowledge is fading. And Alzur has abandoned. If anyone finds this... I hope you are more than just another corpse in the dark."

Kael's fingers tightened around the parchment. Subject 17.

He knew, without question, that name was him. His survival hadn't been luck. He had been put here, left in this place, meant to sleep forever. A failed experiment or a success abandoned by time.

A deep, slow breath filled his lungs. He was alive. He had woken up. And someone had left this place behind in fear of what they had created. And now? Now, he was free.

Kael folded the log and tucked it into the satchel along with the potions. He would need them. There was still much to learn, but for now, he needed strength, tools, and time. He took one last glance at the remains of the creature. Whatever it had been, whatever had made it, it was not alone.

Somewhere in these ruins, or beyond them, answers awaited.

And for the first time in centuries, Kael was ready to find them.