"Wei Ying is not yours to keep," says the voice that is not Ciri's. "He has fallen into mist and shadow, and his soul will heed the call. His brother comes with the scourge, with lightning, with darkness. This waystation is not your home. Look to your world, Lan Zhan."

A girl with blue hair, dressed in whites. A girl with red hair, dressed in black. Both wield swords and ferocious smiles. Behind them both, darkness looms, reaches, swallows them and Ciri too.

She opens her eyes to the wide flat pan of desert. Beneath a twisted, lightning-struck tree, on a stump, sits Geralt the witcher, a fire crackling at his feet. He looks up.

"See you on the Path."

Ciri blinks, smiles encouragingly. "That was a lovely song," she says, entirely oblivious. "Have you – Lan Wangji?"

For he is staring at her in horror. "What's wrong?"