[ Geralt leans back in his chair, drink ignored. He is not so cynical as to believe contrary to Steve. He is cynical enough to believe it may not matter. ]

When humans attacked our home, it was hardly everyone. Just a mob, spurred by an angry mage and an abundance of fear and hate. In that one night, they destroyed my kind.

[ How many of the Summoned reside in this sphere? Less than a hundred. He can't predict precisely what will come next, but if they will not or cannot serve their purpose, then the kingdoms will seek to discard them. That's always the way it goes. And were he alone, he'd harbour fewer concerns.

He isn't. Not anymore. Ciri feels safe here. This is her home. The last thing he wants is for her to be driven from it again. They fled across the Continent once, and though it kept her safe, he knows the toll it took on her. To run and never settle down. To constantly fear discovery.

It's of no consequence that she can fight. That she's survived too many horrors to count. He doesn't want that to be all she has to look towards. ]