"Some tales... never truly end."

They say a witcher has no place in the world of men. That we’re relics—mutants bred for war and blood. But in The Witcher 3, I found something else. I found a world that breathed. Bled. Remembered.

The swords felt real in my hands. Heavy when they needed to be. Light when death called for grace. Every sign I cast, every monster I faced, reminded me that I wasn’t just hunting for coin—I was hunting for purpose. And sometimes… for redemption.

But it wasn’t just the killing. The moments in between—talks with old friends, silent rides through the mist, warm glances from someone who still remembered my name—those were the ones that left their mark.

I met Regis again. A friend thought long gone. Thought dead. And maybe he is. Maybe I am too. The books never promised me this reunion. But there he was—as vivid as ever. Smiling that knowing smile. Drinking blood from a crystal glass and speaking poetry like a priest of reason.

And Yennefer… Gods. Her eyes still pierce like they always did. We walked paths in this game I never dared to dream of. We made choices. Sacrifices. Faced damnation and chose love anyway.

They say endings are for bards. That witchers don’t get them. But maybe, just maybe, this was mine.

Or maybe this whole world—the hunts, the laughter, the pain—was just a flicker. A fever dream in the last moments of my life.

As the boat drifted with Yennefer beside me… and the world grew quiet.