And so it was that a witcher and a Nilfgaardian roared savagely, whirled their swords and leapt forward together without a second thought—two brothers in arms, two allies and comrades—in an encounter with their common foe, in an uneven battle. And that was their baptism of fire. A baptism of shared fighting, fury, madness and death. They were going to their deaths, the two of them. Or so they thought. For they could not know that they would not die that day, on that bridge over the River Yaruga. They did not know that they were both destined for other deaths, in other places and times.
