"Bloodlines of the Unknown"- A witcher tale

The moon hung low in the sky, casting faint silver light over the dense forest. Kael moved through the trees with practiced silence, his senses sharp as ever. The weight of the book pressed heavily in his pack, its contents stirring questions, doubts. He had seen many things in his time, but the revelations within those pages unsettled him in a way nothing else had. The map he'd taken from the stranger's body wasn't much—faded ink on aged parchment, with only a few scattered locations marked. Some places seemed familiar; others were marked in cryptic symbols. Ruins. Hidden caverns. Locations far off the beaten path. But it was the last mark that lingered in his thoughts—a mountain range deep in the north. No description, no context, just an X drawn over jagged peaks.

That's where he was headed.

He didn't need to hurry. The night was still young, and the path ahead was clear for now. Kael's instincts had never failed him. He moved with purpose, careful of the terrain beneath his boots. There would be no mistakes. The night was cold, the air crisp, but Kael didn't mind. The chill made him feel sharper. More alive. His thoughts lingered on the book. The ledger of the First Trials. He had never expected to find such a thing. The Witchers' history was buried, hidden in fragments. Their origins, the experiments—things were wiped clean. Even the most experienced Witchers could only speak in half-truths, remnants of what had been lost. But that book? It was more than a record; it was a direct line to their past, to his past. To Kael's own origins.

He had no memory of the Trials. But the book… the book had names, dates, details that could answer what had been done to him. Who he had been before the mutations, before the wolf-like instincts took hold. Was he a man once? Or had he always been what he was now?

The path ahead grew steeper as Kael climbed toward the mountain range. The landscape shifted—rocks jagged and sharp, trees growing sparse and twisted. It was a harsh place, untouched by civilization for ages. If there was something hidden here, it would be buried beneath layers of stone and time. Kael reached the top of a ridge, stopping to look out over the valley below. The mountains stretched in every direction, dark shadows under the moonlight. Somewhere in those peaks, the truth waited. His grip tightened on the map he still held. He didn't have time to waste—he needed to reach the location marked on the parchment. His instincts told him he was getting close. The air felt different here, thick with magic, heavy with an energy that made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

He moved without hesitation, his boots crunching on the gravel as he descended into a ravine that wound through the mountainside. The farther he went, the more oppressive the silence became. It wasn't just the lack of sound—it was as if the very earth had grown still, watching him. Waiting.

Hours passed, the landscape becoming increasingly barren as Kael pressed on. The moon dipped lower in the sky, casting long, twisted shadows across the stone. He was closer now. He could feel it.

At the base of the ravine, Kael found what he was searching for. A series of ancient stone pillars, worn and cracked, half-hidden by overgrown vines. The remnants of a structure long forgotten, swallowed by the earth. A ruin, just like the one he'd found earlier. But this one felt… different.

His heart rate quickened, the anticipation building. There were no more signs of life here—nothing that would explain what the pillars once supported. Just stone, standing firm against the erosion of time. It was here, though. The book, the map—it had led him to this place.

He knelt beside one of the pillars, examining the markings etched into its surface. Symbols. Old runes that he didn't recognize. His fingers brushed against them, feeling the faint pulse of magic beneath the stone. This was it. This was what the Archivist was after. This was what Kael needed to understand. He stood, scanning the area for any further clues. His eyes narrowed as he spotted a faint light in the distance—just a flicker, almost imperceptible. Magic, but not the kind he was familiar with. Something ancient, something buried long ago.

Kael moved toward it, silent as a shadow, his dagger still resting at his side. The time for hesitation was past. He was here. And whatever secrets this place held, he would uncover them. As he drew closer to the source of the light, the tension in the air thickened. The deeper he went, the more oppressive the feeling became. This wasn't just about discovering lost history—it was about confronting something far older. Something more dangerous than even the Archivist had let on.

And Kael was ready to face it.

Kael's steps were cautious as he approached the source of the faint light, the air growing thicker with each movement. His fingers brushed against the ancient runes etched into the stone pillars, as if seeking some connection to the past. The magic here was old, old enough to have been forgotten, but still faintly alive in the air, humming like a distant memory.

The light grew brighter as he drew closer, though it seemed unnatural, flickering as if it had no real source. The scent of damp stone and decay mixed with something metallic, faintly sharp. A smell that reminded Kael of the darkened halls beneath the Witcher's keep—places where old secrets had been left to rot. He paused before the largest of the pillars, a jagged slab of stone that seemed to hum with power. The light emanated from a crack in its surface, faint but persistent. Kael's hand moved to the dagger at his side, ready for whatever might reveal itself. He knelt, examining the crack more closely, and noticed faint symbols carved deep into the stone. They were worn, but recognizable to his trained eyes. A sequence, a pattern—a series of markings that, together, created a familiar shape. His mind raced. He had seen this before. In the book. The First Trials. He knew these markings; they weren't just runes—they were instructions, part of the process to unlock something hidden beneath the surface. A mechanism. A key.

The stone hummed again, a pulse of energy beneath his fingertips as he pressed against the crack. The symbols reacted, glowing briefly with a pale, ethereal light. For a moment, Kael hesitated. This was dangerous. Whoever had sealed this place had done so for a reason. But then, the pull of the unknown—the pull of his own fragmented memories—was too strong.

With a deep breath, Kael pressed harder, activating the mechanism. The crack widened slightly, and the stone groaned, its surface shifting as a low rumble vibrated through the ground. A thin line of light appeared, slowly spreading like the opening of a door long closed. Slowly, carefully, the stone wall parted, revealing a dark passage beneath the surface.

The air that wafted from the opening was stale, thick with the scent of long-forgotten dust and the faint, unmistakable trace of alchemical chemicals. A laboratory. Kael's pulse quickened. This was no ordinary ruin. This was a place of experimentation—of research, possibly even forbidden practices. The same kind of work that had led to the creation of Witchers like him.

He stood, taking a cautious step forward. His dagger remained in hand, but there was no immediate threat. The passage was narrow, winding downward into the earth. The stone walls were lined with ancient shelves, most empty, save for a few remnants of broken glass and rusted tools. Kael moved further into the passage, his senses heightened. He could feel the weight of history pressing down on him, thick and suffocating, the ghost of whatever had transpired here long ago still lingering.

At the end of the narrow corridor, a heavy wooden door stood ajar. The hinges were old, but the door itself was still intact, its surface scarred from years of neglect. Kael pushed it open, his dagger raised, ready for anything.

The room beyond was larger than he had expected—once a laboratory, now a forgotten tomb. The air was thick with dust, and the dim light from the opening above cast long shadows over the decaying furniture. Desks, overturned chairs, and workbenches lay scattered about, but what caught Kael's attention was the central table. It was large, stone, and covered with rusted equipment. Vials, syringes, and strange metal tools were scattered across it, some still in their original places, others fallen to the floor. But it wasn't the remnants of failed experiments that made Kael's breath catch in his throat.

It was the drawings.

The walls surrounding the lab were covered in charcoal sketches, some faded with time, others still clear enough to be legible. They depicted humans—subjects—undergoing various stages of mutation. Kael recognized the symbols on their foreheads. The same markings he'd seen in the book.

These were the early trials. The ones that had been abandoned. The ones that had failed—too brutal, too dangerous. Too unpredictable.

But there was something more. As Kael stepped closer to the table, his eyes narrowed at a series of large, detailed drawings pinned to the wall next to it. They were not of humans, but of creatures—mutations, grotesque hybrids. Some were almost human in shape, others barely recognizable. Half-beasts, half-men.

A chill ran down Kael's spine. These were the origins of Witchers, twisted experiments to create something stronger, faster, more lethal. But these creatures… they were failures. They looked like monsters, not men. And yet, Kael knew, in some dark corner of his mind, that this place was more than just a failed experiment. It was part of the history that had been erased. A history that tied him to these grotesque mutations. The same darkness that had shaped him, shaped all of them.

His fingers brushed against a glass vial on the table, the dark liquid inside still swirling with the faintest shimmer. A mutagen. One of the early formulas, perhaps—untested, dangerous. But Kael didn't need it. He wasn't here for more of their twisted science. No, what he sought was something else. There, hidden beneath the cluttered workbench, Kael found it—a small chest, no larger than his hand, covered in dust. It was locked, but the lock was a simple one, easily undone with a flick of his wrist.

Inside, nestled against a worn piece of cloth, was a small metal object. It was a medallion—old, worn, its shape barely recognizable. A symbol, too faded to decipher completely. But there was something about it that felt familiar, a connection he couldn't quite place.

Kael's fingers closed around the medallion, and he felt it. A pulse. A subtle tug in the back of his mind. This wasn't just a trinket. This was part of the past. His past. His true past. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized what it was.

This medallion—it was his. A piece of his identity that had been lost, buried, forgotten along with everything else. For the first time since he'd woken on the mountainside, Kael felt a flicker of recognition. The pieces were coming together. The memories were returning. The more he uncovered, the more questions he had. But he knew one thing for certain now.

The Archivist wasn't just hunting for the past.

The Archivist was hunting for him.