"Bloodlines of the Unknown"- A witcher tale

Oldtown was quiet, the kind of village where strangers were watched but not immediately turned away. Stone cottages lined the dirt roads, smoke curling from their chimneys, and the faint scent of livestock and damp earth clung to the air. Kael walked with measured steps, his cloak pulled tight to hide the weapons at his side. His boots stirred the dust on the path as he took in his surroundings—not just with his eyes, but with all his senses. He could hear the rhythm of the town. The chopping of wood from a nearby yard, the murmur of a merchant counting coins, the distant laughter of children playing by a well.

He was adapting.

The instincts of his body—the heightened senses, the unnatural reflexes, the cold precision in his movements—felt less foreign now. At first, it had been disorienting. A constant pull between who he had been and what he had become. But the more he walked, breathed, observed—the more it felt natural. His body was that of a Witcher. His mind held the memories of another.

Two identities, intertwined.

Kael moved toward the center of the village, where a small market square had formed. A few merchants sold their goods—simple things, bread, dried meats, cloth. He approached a stall selling apples, his fingers brushing over the fruit as he listened to the conversation happening nearby. Two men stood by a wooden bench, speaking in low voices.

"…another gone. Third one this month."

"Aye. And the reeve does nothing."

"You think it's bandits?"

A pause.

"Don't know. No tracks, no bodies. Just… gone."

Kael kept his expression neutral, handing the merchant a coin for an apple. He bit into it absently, still listening. Another disappearance. Something was happening in Aerdin.

He needed to hear more.

As Kael walked through the village, he focused on the subtle shifts in his movements.

He had always been aware of his body—but never like this. His balance was flawless. His steps, too quiet. His vision adjusted effortlessly between the bright sunlight and the dim interiors of shaded alleys. He felt stronger, faster, more efficient. Even the act of breathing had changed—controlled, measured, instinctual. The memories of the Witcher who had come before him were no longer just knowledge. They were becoming his.

And as the sun dipped lower over Aerdin, Kael knew one thing.

He was learning to be what he had become.

Kael wiped the juice of the apple from his thumb and approached the two men by the wooden bench. Their conversation had slowed, wary eyes shifting to him as he neared. He kept his movements relaxed, casual—just another traveler, another sellsword passing through.

"Disappearing folk?" he asked, his voice even, carrying just enough curiosity to invite conversation but not suspicion. "Sounds like trouble."

The older of the two men, a grizzled farmer with thick arms and a weathered face, narrowed his eyes. "And who might you be?"

Kael took a bite of his apple, chewing thoughtfully before answering. "A mercenary. Just passing through. Name's Kael." He let that sit for a moment before adding, "If there's coin in it, I solve problems."

The younger man, leaner and more nervous, exchanged a glance with his companion.

"Coin, huh?" The older man scoffed. "The reeve won't pay for what he don't believe in."

Kael arched a brow. "So the reeve thinks people just up and vanish for fun?"

The younger man let out a short, bitter laugh. "Reckons it's wolves. Or that they left on their own."

"Wolves leave bones." Kael gestured vaguely toward the tree line beyond the village. "Tracks. Blood. You find any?"

Silence.

The older man grunted. "Nothing. No signs. Just gone." He hesitated before adding, "Last one was Lise. Young woman, strong. She wouldn't have wandered off."

Kael nodded, filing the name away. "Anyone seen anything unusual?"

"Ain't much unusual here," the younger one muttered. "Not until folk started disappearing."

Kael looked between them, reading the tension in their faces. They were worried. People didn't just vanish. Not without something—or someone—taking them.

"Where was she last seen?"

The older man gestured vaguely to the east. "Near the mill. Sun had just set."

Kael tossed the rest of his apple into a trough of water meant for the village's oxen. "I'll take a look."

The younger man frowned. "You actually plan to go poking around?"

Kael smirked. "That's what you pay mercenaries for."

"Nobody's paying you."

"Not yet." He turned on his heel, already heading toward the mill. "But if I find something, the reeve might change his mind."

And if not, Kael would still find out what was happening.

Not for coin.

For answers. And adaptation to his new body.

-------------------------------------------

The mill stood at the edge of the village, a silent structure looming in the dim evening light. The great wooden wheel, once driven by the river's slow current, now creaked faintly in the still air. The place reeked of grain, damp wood, and something else—something fainter. A scent Kael couldn't quite place.

He moved carefully, keeping his steps light, his senses tuned to every shift in the air. The villagers hadn't found tracks, but that didn't mean there weren't any. The untrained eye missed things. A misplaced stone, a broken blade of grass, the way the wind carried a scent that didn't belong.

Kael circled the mill first, looking for signs. It didn't take long to find something—a set of footprints, barely visible in the dirt near the wooden fence. Lighter steps. A woman's? Maybe. But beside them, something stranger—another set, deeper, heavier, but not quite human.

His grip tightened around the hilt of his hunter's dagger. 'Two people. No… one person, one thing'

Crouching, he ran his fingers through the earth, feeling the disturbance. 'The woman was walking. The other? Not quite. The weight shifted oddly, as if it wasn't entirely on two legs'

He exhaled slowly, following the tracks. They led behind the mill, toward the treeline. The scent lingered here, faint but unmistakable—something musky, tinged with rot.

'Not wolves definitly'

Kael straightened, letting his muscles relax just enough to keep his body loose. He reached for his steel sword, but hesitated. No. If this thing had taken a person, it might not be something mere steel could cut. His fingers brushed the hilt of his silver dagger instead.

He needed more information.

A rustling in the trees made him freeze. Not the wind—something moving. Deliberate.

Kael turned his head slightly, listening. The weight of the air shifted, and he knew he wasn't alone.

Slowly, carefully, he backed toward the mill's wooden door. If something was out there, he wanted to control where the fight happened. Open ground was dangerous—too many directions to defend. The mill was better. Limited entrances, a place to put his back against the wall.

He pushed open the door without a sound and slipped inside. Dust swirled in the dim interior, the scent of old wheat mixing with that strange musk. He let his eyes adjust to the dark. The wooden beams stretched above him, the floor covered in stray grain and old sacks.

Then he saw it. Near the far wall, by an upturned sack of flour—a torn piece of fabric, deep red. A cloak, or maybe a dress. The edges were frayed, ripped. Not by a blade. By something with claws. Kael knelt, brushing his fingers over the cloth. It was dry. Old. If this was Lise's, she had been taken at least a few days ago. But that meant—

A sharp creak overhead.

Kael didn't move. His muscles coiled, his grip tightening on his dagger. Above him, in the rafters, something shifted. A shadow. A presence. He didn't look up immediately. Instead, he let his eyes flick toward the door, as if considering an escape. A subtle trick. Make it think he hadn't noticed. Another creak. Closer this time. Then, a breath. Not his. Not human.

Kael moved.

In an instant, he spun, his dagger flashing upward, striking toward the shadow in the rafters. A hiss filled the air—a sound too sharp, too unnatural. Something dropped from above, limbs twisting as it landed in a crouch, just beyond the reach of his blade. Kael didn't hesitate.

He lunged.

Kael struck fast. His dagger flashed through the dim light, aiming for the thing's throat.

But it was fast, too. Too fast.

The creature twisted, barely avoiding the blade. Not human. Its movements were wrong—limbs bending in ways they shouldn't, spine arched unnaturally.

Kael barely caught a glimpse of its shape before it lashed out. A clawed hand raked toward his chest.

He twisted, narrowly avoiding the strike. The air whistled where the claws cut through empty space. Another lunge—this time, Kael let the momentum carry him forward, his free hand slamming into the creature's side, throwing it off balance.

It stumbled back, snarling—a low, guttural sound that sent a chill through his spine.

The dim light finally revealed it.

Pale skin, stretched too tight over bones. Sunken eyes, blackened veins running beneath the surface. Its mouth—too wide, its teeth jagged, yellowed, stained with old blood. Its fingers ended in claws, long and sharp.

Not a wraith. Not a ghoul.

Something worse. Something old.

The thing moved again, this time faster. Kael barely had time to raise his dagger before it was upon him, its weight slamming against his chest. He hit the ground hard.

Pain flared through his ribs, but he didn't let it slow him. He brought the dagger up, aiming for the creature's side—

It caught his wrist.

'Strength. Unnatural strength'

The thing hissed, its breath rancid, its mouth twisting into something like a grin. Kael growled and drove his knee up, hard, into its ribs. The creature shrieked and loosened its grip. That was all he needed.

With a burst of strength, Kael ripped his hand free and drove his dagger into its side.

The blade sank deep. A scream—high-pitched, inhuman. The thing recoiled, staggering back, its clawed hand clutching at the wound. Black blood oozed between its fingers.

Kael didn't waste time.

He surged forward, pressing the attack. A second slash, this time to the throat.

The silver blade bit deep.

The thing gurgled, its eyes widening in shock as dark ichor spilled down its chest. It staggered, limbs twitching, before collapsing onto the wooden floor, convulsing. Kael watched, dagger still raised, breath steady despite the pain in his ribs. The thing spasmed one last time, then went still.

Silence.

Only the distant creak of the mill's wooden beams remained. Kael exhaled slowly. It was dead.

He crouched beside the corpse, wiping his dagger clean against its ragged clothing. Not a leshen, not a wraith. Something else. Something twisted. His eyes flickered to the torn piece of fabric—the red cloth near the sacks of flour.

Had it taken Lise? Or had it been here for something else?

He wiped sweat from his brow, letting himself focus inward for a moment.

The body—his body—felt more natural now. The instincts came easier. The way he moved, reacted, fought—it was becoming second nature, and in some moments he felt it was even better than before.

Still, there were moments when it felt like he was remembering how to use a weapon he had wielded long ago. His reflexes were sharp, honed, but sometimes his mind hesitated, caught between the past and present. He needed more time. More practice.

But first—the search.

Kael turned back to the mill, scanning the floor, the walls, the beams above. If this thing had taken people, there would be more clues. He started searching, methodical and thorough. If Lise was alive, he would find out. If others had disappeared, he would learn why.

And if there were more of these creatures?

He would kill them all.