Chapter-8

Kael emerged from the ruins, the cold night air washing over him like a tide. Behind him, the flames raged within the hidden lab, consuming the past, burning away the twisted remains of forgotten experiments.

The mountain winds carried the scent of smoke and scorched stone into the night, but Kael paid it little mind. His focus was on the path ahead.

Vernhardt. The old fortress.

If there were answers to be found, that was where he would start. He moved quickly, descending the rocky terrain and slipping back into the cover of the forest. The trees welcomed him with their familiar embrace—shadows deep, branches twisting overhead, the scent of damp earth thick in the air. He had no map beyond the crude markings in the journal he had taken, but he had something better—his instincts. He knew how to track, how to read the land. And the land, if listened to properly, would guide him.

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Kael's body still felt foreign, despite the memories settling in his mind. Every movement, every sensation—it was his, but it wasn't. The reflexes of a predator, honed to a razor's edge. The heightened senses, the unnatural silence of his footsteps. It was instinctive. Too instinctive. His previous life—his real life—had never been like this.

'What exactly did they do to me?'

He gritted his teeth, pushing the thought aside. That was what he needed to find out. And Vernhardt, whoever they were, might hold the key.

The notes in the journal mentioned a fortress, but not by name. An abandoned keep, hidden deep in the mountains. Kael had seen ruins before. Witcher strongholds, forgotten castles swallowed by time. But if this place was tied to the Panther School, it wouldn't be on any known maps.

He needed information and that meant finding people who still remembered. And that meant heading toward civilization.

By dawn, Kael had put several miles between himself and the ruined lab. He kept off the main roads, staying within the tree line, moving like a shadow along the landscape.

At midday, he paused atop a ridge, scanning the land below. Rolling hills, scattered farmsteads, a thin road winding toward a distant village. A place to gather information. But villages meant risk. The less attention he drew, the better.

Kael adjusted his stolen cloak, pulling it tighter to obscure the armor beneath. He still had the steel sword from the mercenary, his daggers, and the silver blade strapped to his back. Armed enough to be dangerous, but not enough to stand out as a Witcher.

He exhaled slowly.

'Time to see what the world still remembers'

With that, he set off toward the village, his thoughts turning toward the past he was hunting and the unknown dangers waiting ahead.

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The village was small, modest, the kind that existed on the edge of civilization, untouched by war but always at risk of something worse. Smoke curled from chimneys, the scent of baking bread and damp earth mixing in the air. Kael approached cautiously, keeping to the shadows of the trees. His cloak hid his armor, his weapons tucked close. He needed information, not attention. A signpost stood near the road, its wood warped by time and weather. The lettering was rough, almost worn away, but one word stood clear:

Aerdin.

The name stirred nothing in his memories. The knowledge from the Witcher inside him offered no familiarity. He needed to know more.

Kael spotted a lone farmer hauling a cart of firewood toward the village's entrance. An older man, strong but weary, dressed in a thick woolen tunic. Kael stepped forward, his movements careful. Not a threat. Just another traveler.

"Morning," he said, his voice calm but firm.

The farmer halted, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Aye?"

Kael gestured toward the signpost. "I've been traveling a long way. Just got turned around." He kept his tone neutral, unreadable. "What village is this? What Kingdom?"

The farmer grunted. "Oldtown. Aerdin." He adjusted the weight of the cart. "Not much of a place, but it's home."

Kael nodded slowly. "And… what year is it?"

The farmer gave him a strange look. "You lose your wits, boy?"

Kael exhaled sharply. He needed an answer.

"Just been on the road too long." He forced a tired chuckle. "Days blend together."

The farmer shook his head, muttering, "Tch, travelers these days…" before sighing. "It's 1268. You really that lost?"

The number sank into Kael's mind, cold and heavy.

He had no memory of this time, of these years. His mind was filled with fragments of a life he should remember, but nothing connected.

And yet, the other him knew. 1268. It was after Sodden Hill, after the Great War.

After the worst of what was supposed to come.

'But why wake up now?'

Kael forced his expression to remain neutral. "Guess I am lost."

The farmer gave him another long, suspicious glance before grumbling, "Best find yourself a warm meal in town, then. Keep outta trouble."

Kael nodded, watching as the man dragged his cart onward. He needed more answers. And the village was as good a place as any to start. With that, he adjusted his cloak, lowered his hood, and walked toward the unknown.