I'm shocked people! How could we possibly let this go untapped?! The fit could be seamless, a world full of monsters needs professionals and no one is more skilled then the White Wolf. Buuuuuut we won't be focused on him. No, our subject is much much younger. Nearly the same age as one young Cirila.

That being said the entire crew of both world will appear in some fashion or another.

Enough about that though! Enjoy the story!.

Failure.

The word reverberated through his mind. An unwanted companion clamouring for attention.

Weak.

Slow.

Disappointment.

That was the worst. The moment it hissed from between his fathers lips he knew that he failed as an Arc. The look of surprise on his face, as if he never meant to voice the thought, only cemented it as truth. Before he had the chance to make an apology or twist it into a favourable light his son had grabbed their ancestral blade and run off into the forest.

That's how an eight year old Jaune Arc found himself wandering through the woods with only a sword nearly as tall as him and his own vicious mind for company.

Five older sisters.

All of them as graceful as they are deadly.

Of course the family would have to have a black sheep eventually.

You.

He shook his head violently as if trying to whip water from his hair.

No!

I'll show them disappointment. I'll- I'll kill a beowolf! Show them I'm a true Arc!

Or you will die. And they won't weep over you, after all it would be no real loss.

His face lost all expression. Set in stoney determination he pressed on goal set in both his mind and his heart.

=][=

He was hungry.

He was cold.

He was wet.

It had been three days since he had abandoned home. The first was filled with equal parts hope and despair yet for all his walking he heard not a single growl nor saw a hint of black and white.

The second had been much the same with yet more self loathing as he tried and failed to catch any sort of food. Squirrels leapt at the last second, berries bitter enough to make him gag and water. Well he had plenty of water the third day.

It was a down pour, it started just before noon and even now as the sun started to kiss the horizon it continued to fall. So here he was huddled in a hollowed out tree with a sword between his knees praying for some for of sign as tears fell upon his cheeks.

I should have never run away.

I could live as a disappointment.

Ride the coat tails of his families legacy.

I just want to go home.

And that's when something changed. His surrounding once full of songs sung by the birds in the trees had fallen silent. Now focused on listening he could hear the stamping of hooves getting quieter and quieter as deer fled the area. All to soon the only audible sound was the falling rain, the groaning of the trees and his own quickening breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

SQRUAAAAAAAAAAA!

His hands jumped to his ears on their own accord trying to shut out the screech so full of malice and hunger. But at the same time his sword fell clattering noisily against the ground.

Not two heart beats later the ground shook as something very large landed heavily in the woods. Smart enough to know he was dead no matter what, he sent another quick plea to the great Oum and crawled out of the tree sword dragging on the ground. He turned to face whatever had arrived and his heart nearly froze.

A basilisk.

A monstrous amalgamation of two wolf legs, a lizards body, crows wings and a snakes head full of rows upon rows of fangs. Each dripping a poison that is neither fast or painless. It was as long as a truck about as tall too, with a wingspan to rival a city bus.

He was dead.

Deader then the Ursa fur rug that decorated his families living room floor.

His only hope here was to take advantage of the two large gashes on the left side of it's torso and the crossbow bolt firmly wedged in the right wing of the creature.

It was a very small hope.

He charged roaring with all his eight year old might.

=][=

"Come on Roach!"

Crows scattered as iron shod hooves slammed again and again into the muddy road.

"We can't lose it Geralt!" A second older voice yelled over the howling rain as a second horse joined the first.

Sat atop Roach, Geralt, a man with hair as white as snow shook his head. "Tracking Bolt. Won't lose the scent not even in this weather Vesimir."

Vesemir was both Geralt's companion and teacher. Centuries old yet still fit and ready to cut down the monsters that plagued the land, the only sign of his age being the thick grey mane atop his head and eyes wary and knowledgeable.

"Smart."

And so they rode on determined to find and end that insufferable basilisk. Cracked his crossbow, it'd die for that alone.

The horses were shaking from exhaustion by they time the spotted the beast swooping into a clearing letting loose a hunting cry as it fell. "Ha! We got it now!"

They were still a decent ride away two full minutes at full gallop but the basilisk stayed grounded, most likely gnawing at a fresh deer carcass trying to regenerate what it could before the next encounter. They veered of the path when it could take them no closer and as the trees grew more and more dense Geralt was forced to duck beneath a low lying branch.

He turned to Vesemir only to see him too struggling to weave the tiring horse through the few clear paths. "We're close enough, we can move faster on foot." He called to his fellow witcher.

The old man looked over before giving a sharp nod. Geralt pulled his reins back slowing the horse before swinging his left leg forward and over Roach's neck letting him slide smoothly from the saddle. Sinking into the wet ground slightly Geralt reached over his shoulder and grasped one of the two swords sheathed there. It gleamed in the dying daylight as the silver blade was slowly drawn, it was a simple weapon by modern standards yet just as expensive as top of the line mecha-shift. Made of pure silver it was a relic of a bygone era, when humanity fought for it's very survival against the Grimm, back before the discovery of dust and the complex refining techniques needed to utilize the elements. Of course now that such a powerful tool was at his disposal a series of dust runestones ran up the first quarter of Geralt's sword.

Vesemir had already started to jog toward the strong vinegary scent of the tracking bolt, his own silver blade bare. By the time he caught up the duo were just a few dozen meters away from the clearing. Geralt expected to hear the sounds of crunching flesh and he wasn't disappointed what was unexpected was the child like scream of pain that followed.

"Shit! It's got someone, we have to do this quick. No bombs." Vesemir snapped quickening his pace.

No bombs? It limited the options and definitely made the fight harder but nothing that they couldn't handle. Transitioning to a sprint Geralt over took Vesemir and broke through the clearing instantly focusing on the beast. It had a new wound running from the top of it's now ruined right eye all the way to it's snout, it was writhing back and forth hissing and snapping at imaginary foes. Geralt closed the distance in seconds and leapt, sword drawn back in one hand, a quick quen sign being formed in the other. At the apex of his jump he thrust his long sword forward in a quick stab, it was ill aimed and while it would hurt, nothing vital would be done. That is until the runes on his blade glowed bright and nudged his sword ever so slightly so that it bit deep into the joint just above the right wing, bringing his other hand up he retched his sword free causing the wing of the beast to hang lifelessly by a few unsevered tendons.

The basilisk roared in agony and rage. It was a terror of the sky! It had feasted on the land dwellers for decades! It ruled this land and now it would never fly again! The meal would PAY!

Faster then a train the reinforced tail of the draconid whipped at Geralt at speed matching an oncoming train, only to bounce harmlessly against a now broken magical shield. Rolling back Geralt watched as Vesemir struck next sword slashing into the now exposed tail. Breaking from his crouch he ran forward jumping onto the back of the monster before driving his sword downwards at the base of the beasts neck.

Now paralyzed from the neck down and choking on it's own blood the basilisk desperately tried snap at anything near by. It whimpered pitifully as Vesimir came close a delivered a brutal two handed chop to it's neck cutting to the bone.

"It's done." He breathed as he stepped back to let the beast bleed out, it's mouth opening and closing repeatedly in shock.

Geralt looked around quickly before spotting what he heard earlier. "There. A boy. Still alive."

"What's this now?" Vesemir said skirting around the now dead monster to walk towards the fallen child. He was simply dressed in a fine tunic and breaches over which sat a torn open training cuirass, venom leaked from the wound creating transparent bubbles in his pooling blood. "Not for long, poor boy got bit. We should grant him peace, better then a week of torment or bleeding out in the cold."

"No I have another idea..." Geralt tapered off as he eyed the scraggly blonde.

"Hmm? Think he has the potential?" The elder asked placed his hands on his hips.

Geralt didn't respond right away instead his amber orbs flickered to the broken sword next to the boy. Steel yet it had cut through the basilisks hide when swung by a child. He picked up the blade and wiped away the basilisk's blood. "Look at this, snapped at the tang but the blades a masterpiece, never seen this many rune spaces on a steel sword before."

Vesemir knelt beside him and took the offered blade. "Well I'll be, ancient as far as swords go. Forged of what looks like meteorite, very rare even these days."

"Belongs to the kid. Should stay with him when he gets to Kher Moran."

"Not much good a broken blade will do even if he survives the trials."

"He's dead either way, least this way he can fight for his life and just have Yen transmute it longer and thinner so it's a proper longsword." Geralt said rising from his crouch.

"Fine, fine." Vesemir relented picking the boy up, who was mercifully unconscious, before gently laying him on his saddle then mounting himself. "Atleast Ciri will stop whining about training with a dummy. Go collect the bounty for the Basilisk city boy, I'll see you back at kaer Morhen. HIA!"

The White Wolf of Rivia turned up his lip while drawing a butchers dagger. He always got the dirty jobs.

Now on to the nitty gritty. I write what I'm interested in and with the amount of game play I have to go through still I will be writing this for a long while yet. I have the next chapter ready to be uploaded next thursday and the third is nearly half done. That being said as much as I want to stick to a once per week chapter schedule, I can't make any promises, work is hectic and I'll be starting school in three weeks. So if you don't see me and this starts to stagnate please feel free to take up the torch, i have no issue with it.