Chapter Text
When Geralt woke up after sleeping a couple of hours, the Mère-Lachaiselongue cemetery was peaceful, with the birds chirping in the pink and gold rays of the rising sun. The white wolf groaned, and turned around slowly, craning his neck in all directions.
"Regis?" he called.
There was no answer, and Geralt felt a tight pang in his chest. He stood up and gathered his swords, before walking straight to the entrance of Regis' crypt.
"Regis?" he called again, while going down the stairs, into the dark, damp atmosphere of the tomb.
The vampire still didn't answer. The crypt looked almost the same though. The tomb of Arkadius Borovvik was still gently lit by the candles, next to which stood a couple of bookshelfs, and a wooden high chair.
Geralt called out his friend's name again. Something deep inside his chest was rising. A bubbling emotion that he did not want to face.
He got up the stone stairs to the vampire's lab, and his eyes widened very slightly, realizing that a lot of Regis' stuff was missing. His skeleton for study, his scrolls, and most of his books.
Geralt's dread was confirmed. Regis had gone for good.
Trying to push down the burning, nasty feeling of emptiness that kept rising through him, Geralt wandered aimlessly through the remains of Regis' lab, not really knowing what he was looking for. He absent-mindedly played with the globe standing in a corner, caressed the cobblestone walls, extinguished some candles and re-lit them with Igni...
Soon, he arrived by Regis' bed, settled down on a rough stone. Geralt's heightened senses could still smell the vampire's herbal scent lingering on the sheets, and it painfully made his absence even more tangible.
Geralt's eyes fell upon a worn-looking book next to the bed.
"My last thought before succumbing to sleep", Geralt read out loud, opening the book to the first page.
Leafing through the small book, he realized it might be some sort of diary. He almost closed it, not wanting to pry into his friends' private life, when he saw the last entry.
"I have a feeling my friend Dettlaff will die. I am sad."
The pang constricting Geralt's heart tightened at these words. Feeling something in him was about to break, he closed the diary and put it back where he had found it, as though it would be enough to pretend he had not read that last sentence. Turning on his heels, he flew down the stone stairs, dashed before Arkadius Borovvik's sarcophagus, and fled more than left the crypt, returning to the light of day.
As he ran in the forest surrounding the peaceful cemetery, he whistled Roach, who arrived joyfully and stopped beside him, giving him a friendly nudge with her head. Geralt patted her and hid his face in her mane for a few seconds.
Regis...
The vampire would not leave his thoughts. He had to leave this forsaken place.
"Let's go home, Roach" he said while mounting the mare, his heart in his throat.
He rode fast, trying to push down the sea of regrets that threatened to drown his heart. Soon, he arrived at Corvo Bianco, and got down from Roach, who trotted to her stables. Geralt greeted the peasants absent-mindedly, and went straight for the mansion.
"Good morning sir, I trust the celebration went well?" Barnabas Basil said when he entered.
Marlene and him were apparently doing a bit of dusting. Marlene raised motherly eyes to Geralt.
"I'm sure you were magnificient, my dear witcher. I'm so proud of you!" she said tenderly.
Geralt grimaced and loudly cleared his throat. As fond as he was of both of them, he knew that now was absolutely not the time to talk.
"Yeah, 't was a real treat. Need to have some rest though. Talk t'you later." Geralt answered quickly, without looking at them.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he distinctly saw them exchange a puzzled look, yet he did not give them enough time to enquire about his well being. He dashed into his room and closed the door. When he turned towards the bed, his heart stopped. There, on the nightstand, was a letter, with a small object. Geralt sat on the bed, and stared at the letter. After a long, silent moment, he gently took it, almost against his will, and unfolded it.
Dear Geralt,
If you are reading these words, it means I am already far beyond the borders of Toussaint and you have found my Mutagenerator. (Of course, you may dub this instrument however you like, perhaps something more fitting to your taste or better reflecting its function, for I have no doubt your knowledge on the subject of mutagens is far more profound and thorough than mine!)
I have been working on this device in my spare time, but now it is finished and I am convinced – as convinced as an inventor can be before his invention has been used as intended – of the usefulness of this apparatus.
You are surely wondering what function it is meant to serve. As the name indicates, the Mutagenerator generates mutagens. It operates by absorbing electromagical energy waves from bodies (in this case, the bodies of the monsters and evil-doers you kill) – and when it has absorbed enough so as to be charged a critical amount, the Mutagenerator changes the stored energy into a Greater Mutagen – which, I suspect, you will make good use of.
As you surely understand, I am an amateur engineer, which is why you must forgive the lack of an ability for you to direct this operation. Which mutagen emerges as a result is determined at random, meaning chance will decide if it is a Green, Red or Blue Mutagen. Chance – yet I have noted the colors tend to alternate, by and large.
I trust you shall find my gift useful.
Your dearly devoted friend,
Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy
P.S. You might be wondering why I decided to toss the Mutagenerator into your home instead of simply handing it to you in person. Well, you must know I did it out of modesty. Believe it or not.
Take care, Geralt – and may my gift serve you well.
Geralt gulped. He turned towards the object on the night stand. It looked like a small rectangular box, and it fit in the palm of his hand. He forced himself to smile, but the pain in his chest was still there, and increasing.
Trying to put his turmoil on the account of exhaustion, Geralt took off his armor and boots, and put himself to bed, not realizing that he was still clutching Regis' letter to his bare chest. He closed his eyes, and tried to find sleep.
However, his heart seemed to be pulsating painfully, as though poison was coursing and burning through his veins. Soon, in his mind, he replayed the last moments he had spent with Regis.
"What about you? Any idea where you'll go?" Geralt asked.
"Distance is of the essence. I thought I might venture south."
"Nilfgaard?"
"Why ever not? The Niflgaardians are a modern society. None there believe in vampires anymore. This fact alone could be very useful to someone wishing to remain...incognito."
Geralt turned, and turned over again in his bed. After one hour, he realized he couldn't find peace. Sitting up on his bed, he grabbed a linen shirt from his stash, put on his boots, and headed towards the door. He got out in the hot sun, and started strolling down towards the gardens.
Everything was well.
He had a vineyard, in the most beautiful place in the world, and he was certain Yennefer, Ciri, Triss or even Dandelion would come visit him soon, and possibly settle down with him.
People, at last, loved him and greeted him enthusiastically in the streets, calling him a hero, a knight in shining armour.
He had reunited two heartbroken sisters, and they would now live happily ever after.
And yet...
Regis had chosen to kill Dettlaff, because he knew very well that regenerating him would not solve his hunger for revenge. Eventually, the massacre of Beauclair would happen again. Geralt knew Regis too well to believe he could actually have decided otherwise. The vampire, unlike the majority of his kin, valued human life far too greatly for that.
Geralt fidgeted with the beautiful blossoms of arenarias bordering the path, lost in the dear memories of his vampiric friend.
Yeah...After all it's better for him. Said it himself: Toussaint is like a strong wine. Good in small sips.
A red-haired peasant greeted him while bending to nurture the soil for a new plantation of wolfsbane. Geralt gave her a sad smile and greeted her back, before going back to the thoughts storming around in his head.
Anyway, what kind of life was that for Regis, having to live in a dark, damp crypt, just to get some peace? No...He'll find a better life for him in Nilfgaard. Start a new life. Work as a kind of alchemist, advisor or surgeon, most like. Won't be bothered by his bloodsucker kin.
Another, soft and eloquent voice, rose in his mind, and echoed within the depths of his heart.
No need to trouble yourself Geralt. All is well. All is in order.
That was what Regis would say. He was certain of it.
Yes. All is well.
All is in order.
All is well...
Without warning, the dam broke, and hot tears came to Geralt's eyes. He clutched Regis' letter, which he still had not let go. He felt his heart abruptly shatter to pieces as though hit by a Grapeshot bomb and a sob escaped his lips, which he immediately muffled in his hand.
His face contorted in a mask of pain, and he felt he was losing all control. Ashamed of crying before his workers, Geralt ran back through the courtyard, to the mansion and into his bedroom. There, he collapsed more than sat on his bed, clutching the paper in one hand, burying his face in the other.
He couldn't understand what was happening to him. Witchers were not supposed to have such strong fits of raw emotion. Still, the sorrow was making him rock back and forth, like when he had found Ciri's apparently lifeless body and held it to him, months ago. He felt the same waves of devastating sorrow crashing against the walls of his heart.
Why such pain? When he had everything he had ever wanted, at last?
Regis' soft smile came to his mind, and Geralt could almost smell his herbal scent, see his high cheekbones and his grey sideburns. His soft, deep voice would not leave his mind.
All is well. All is in order.
"Been living without the bastard for years, damn it. Thought he was dead. Took time to get over it, yes, but why cry over him now of all times?" Geralt admonished himself.
The answer came easily in his mind. They had been so close during the last months, closer than ever, actually. With all the action and worry, Geralt had not paused to think what it truly meant to him that Regis was back. They had been given a second chance, and this stressed out the weight Regis' death had had on Geralt's subconscious mind. He had never really forgiven himself for his friend's death, especially when Regis had perished trying to save him. During the last months, Geralt had got used again to Regis' comforting, calm presence. He had relished their long discussions by the fire, passing a bottle of Mandrake brew between them. Regis had the power of putting his mind at ease, of making him forget the horrors of his life for just a moment. His wisdom and his deep understanding of things often made Geralt ponder on many aspects of his own life. It allowed him to take a step back, and reflect calmly on things beyond him.
Slowly, Geralt began to grasp how much their friendship had grown within that time, and his heart ached with longing.
Yet there was something else.
Something else that upset Geralt immensely.
Suddenly, it appeared clearly in his mind.
Regis is sad.
This last thought, bringing back the vampire's worn-out diary to Geralt's mind, was the last straw.
I have a feeling my friend Dettlaff will die. I am sad.
"It's unfair...It's so damn unfair..." Geralt whispered through his tears.
It seemed obvious, all of a sudden. At last, he could put words on what his heart had been trying to tell him since he woke up. He could not stand the idea of Regis spending long years mourning Dettlaff alone. And he could definitely not accept the fact that he might never see the vampire again, while imagining him drowning in a sea of sadness and solitude.
Geralt instantly knew what to do. It was the only, acceptable thing he could possibly do.
The witcher didn't even think. He sniffed loudly, wiped his tears with his hands, and got up. He grabbed his swords, tucked the mutagenerator and the letter in his pocket and dashed out of his room. Marlene and Barnabas were still in the hall, talking quietly behind his door, obviously wondering what was wrong with him. When they saw his red eyes, they looked downright panicked.
"What is happening, witcher?" Marlene asked, her eyes huge with concern.
Geralt grabbed her shoulders firmly but gently.
"Can't explain right now. Need to do something. Might not be back for a while, but it's important. Please, take care of Corvo Bianco in my absence. Friends of mine will certainly come for me, have them settle down here for as long as they want. I promise I will be back."
Marlene pressed her hands on her heart.
"Be careful, Geralt, dear..." she whispered.
Geralt had a gentle smile and he laid a small, comforting kiss on the old woman's forehead. Then he turned to Barnabas Basil, and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. The majordomo lowered his head in acknowledgement, but Geralt could see worry on his face.
The witcher then turned around and dashed outside, heading towards the stables.
"Come on Roach, we have a long journey ahead of us" he told the mare, jumping on her back.
His heart full of hope, his white mane flying in the wind, he rode through the gates of Corvo Bianco, and headed south, in the direction of Nilfgaard.
After an entire day of galloping through the roads and forests, Geralt had left the borders of Toussaint. The lands started turning greyer, darker than the beautiful realm of Ana Henrietta, and Geralt could occasionally hear rotfiends and ghouls roaming in deserted villages. He would not stop however. His mind was obsessed with one, specific goal.
He had to find Regis.
He had to, or he honestly didn't know what he would do. He would probably spend the rest of his life searching for the vampire.
However the farther he got from Toussaint, the heavier his heart became.
Regis was nowhere to be seen.
Geralt started calling his friend's name, stopping here and there to search for him through the small forests bordering the road.
Regis was not there.
When dusk arrived, Geralt was so exhausted and so desperate he could barely think. Wandering through a peaceful forest, he almost fell down from Roach trying to dismount. Once he had reached the ground, he spinned around, and screamed on top of his lungs:
"Regis!"
He could feel sobs crawling in his throat, and a hand of ice clasping around his supposedly hardened heart.
"DAMN YOU, REGIS!" Geralt yelled, his voice breaking.
He shook his head, and pulled on his hair.
"Damn you..."
How could he be so naive? Regis was a vampire, for Gods' sake, he would very unlikely travel on foot, especially if he was hunted down by all the vampires of Toussaint!
Feeling the weight of his swords cutting in his linen shirt Geralt threw them rageously down on the ground.
Regis was certainly so far away now. For all Geralt knew, he never truly intended to go south. Maybe he'd just said so precisely to stop Geralt from tracking him.
After all, Geralt was a witcher, and Regis a vampire...
He fell on his knees, feeling like he was going to die from sorrow and fatigue.
Fuck...What have I done...Why have I let him go?
He got Regis' letter out of his pocket, and painfully re-read his words again. As he traced the ink with his finger, a bitter tear fell down on the yellow piece of parchment.
Never...I will never see him again.
"Farewell, Regis..." he said, his throat constricting painfully.
In the silence of the forest, in the quiet that comes right before the world goes to sleep, another, much darker night was slowly spreading over Geralt's heart. As heavy tears poured down on his cheeks, gliding over his many scars, the witcher realized something, which made his heart succumb to earnest despair.
I never said goodbye.