As the ruins of Kaer Morhen faded.Steve found himself in a shattered fortress, its walls crumbling under the weight of time and war. Unlike the cold, solemn home of the School of the Wolf, this place felt different—wilder, sharper, dangerous and far more sinister.
Kaer Dhu, the lost stronghold of the School of the Cat.
A place built for outcasts. Killers. Survivors and assassins.
The air smelled of rust and leather, of old blood soaked into the stone. The shadows stretched unnaturally long, twisting around Steve as if watching him whispering to him about death about pain about blood and torture.
And then, he felt it.
Eyes. Dozens of them.
"Look at how The Wolf walks into a den of Cats."
The voice came from the darkness. Smooth and Mocking.
From the shadows, they emerged—figures clad in faded, tattered Witcher light armor. Their feline eyes gleamed like molten gold in the dim light. The Witchers of the Cat School—or rather, the echoes of those who had long since perished in the river of time.
At their center stood Gaetan, the Butcher of Stettin, his scarred face twisted in amusement and irony of teaching a hero assassination techniques. Beside him, the others deadly figures—Brehen, the Mad Cat. And behind them, others: Astrid, Kiyan, Jad Karadin, Serrit, Aiden.
All killers all murderers yet men forced by their situation their fates.
All watching him like a pack of predators sizing up their prey yet with a sense of duty that likely came from the orders of a being far beyond anything they or Steve could possibly fathom.
---
Lesson One: No Honor Among Ghosts
"What do you think, my dear clowder?" Brehen tilted his head, a smirk playing at his lips. "Does the good little soldier have what it takes to become a cat?"
Steve remained still, meeting their gazes with calm that comes with age and experience. "I'm here to learn or so i have been told."
Gaetan laughed—a low, dangerous sounding like a growl. "Let's start then."
The attack came without warning.
A dagger whistled through the air—Steve barely twisted in time, the blade nearly slicing a thin line across his cheek. Before he could react, another came from the opposite direction.
He deflected it with his shield.
But they were already on him.
They moved like ghosts, darting in and out of the shadows. Their blades whispered against the air, aiming for the soft gaps in his armor—his throat, his ribs, the backs of his knees. Small needles coming to pearse through his eyes ears and nose.
Steve blocked, dodged, countered—but they never fought fair.
One of them threw dirt into his eyes. Another went for his legs, sweeping them out from under him. As he hit the ground, he barely rolled in time to avoid a boot slamming toward his skull.
Brehen grinned down at him, spinning a dagger between his fingers. "Honor is a Wolf's leash, Rogers. Here? You either cheat, or you die or has your time as a hero made you forget your life as a soldier."
Steve wiped the blood from his lip. He wasn't a stranger to dirty fights—he'd brawled in alleys before he ever picked up a shield.
But this was different.
This was a world where mercy got you killed.
And so—he adapted.
Just as another blade came towards him he took out the bastard sword gifted to him by the wolves it shines in blue with a really sharp edge which could be felt just by a look with a howling wolf carved on it's hilt.
He slashd at the blades coming towards him and blocked the spikes and arrows he could not keep sight of.
He stopped trying to match their rhythm—and instead, he broke it.
When Gaetan lunged, Steve didn't block or slashed instead he threw his shield at him —he sidestepped, letting the Witcher stumble past before grabbing his wrist and twisting, breaking the hold on his dagger.
When Brehen tried to sweep his legs again, Steve didn't jump—he stepped into the attack, using the momentum to drive the dagger he just caught into the Witcher's throat.
The others joined in, their strikes faster, wilder. But now, Steve moved with them, rather than against them. He let the chaos flow, dodging by inches, striking only when the moment was perfect.
And then—he disappeared.
Using the ruined pillars as cover, he slipped into the shadows, just like them.
Brehen frowned, scanning the darkness. "Oh? The little wolf is learning."
A whisper of movement—
And Steve struck from behind, slamming his fist into Gaetan's jaw who had just been revived, sending the Witcher sprawling.
For a moment—silence.
Then, Gaetan laughed. "Not bad, not bad at all at least you can be taught."
---
The Trial of Poisons – The Cat's Bite
Steve had already endured the Trial of Grasses. His body had been reforged through pain, through fire, through death.
But the Cats had their own test.
They called it the Trial of Poisons.
Steve stood in the center of Kaer Dhu's great hall, stripped of armor, his hands bound behind his back.
Before him, a table of vials, each filled with a different liquid.
Gaetan gestured. "One of these will kill you instantly. One will make you wish you were dead. The rest?" He smirked. "Survive them all, and you become one of us."
Steve met his gaze. "I don't get a choice, do I? After all i need the power"
Astrid grinned. "You never do."
The first vial burned like acid, his veins screaming as though set alight. His stomach twisted, his muscles locked, his mind reeled.
The second made his vision blur, the walls shifting, the floor melting beneath his feet. Illusions. Voices whispered in his ears—ghosts of the past, the dead crying for vengeance.
The third was cold, colder than anything he'd ever felt, as though death itself wrapped around his bones. His breath came ragged, his heartbeat slowing.
And yet—he endured.
One after another, he drank them all, never breaking, never falling after all it was not the first time that he had felt agony nor will it be the last. For a world he would do anything.
When it was over, Steve collapsed to his knees, his body forever changed immune to poisoning and undieng on the battlefield.
His senses sharpened beyond what even the Super Soldier Serum had given him. He could hear the heartbeat of a rat scurrying in the rafters, see the faintest shift in the shadows, smell the hidden blade coated in oil behind Brehen's back.
The Witchers of the Cat watched in silence.
Then, Gaetan stepped forward, offering his hand.
Steve took it.
"Welcome to the path, Cat of the North."
---
A Witcher and a Soldier
When Steve stood again, he was stronger, faster, sharper.
The Wolf had taught him discipline. The Cat had taught him adaptability.
The next trial awaits and so does new knowledge.