Geralt's exasperation is like a warm balm to her soul, as is Lan Wangji's dry observation. It's almost impossible to believe they're both here, and yet here they stand. And Yennefer, and Wei Wuxian, at Kaer Morhen -- it's nearly enough to bring tears of grateful joy to her eyes.

The witcher grimaces at the fast-disappearing boat. "Listen," he says. "We gotta think of a way to -- "

Ciri glances over at him as his voice trails off, and feels something in her gut freeze as he carefully exhales, his warm breath fogging in suddenly frigid air. She wheels about and makes a low sound of fear at what she sees: black sails like fangs, frost-limned and horrible moving slowly through the mist. "The Naglfar," she whispers, full of a childish dread.