"A Shield in the Storm: The Captain’s Oath"

The fortress of Kaer Seren stood atop a jagged mountain peak, its towers piercing the storm-laden sky. Unlike the ruined keeps of the Wolf and the Cat, this one endured—its walls standing proud against time, its banners still whispering tales of honor and wisdom.

As Steve approached, the winds howled around him, carrying the scent of cold steel and old parchment. He felt the weight of unseen eyes upon him, watching, measuring.

Then, a voice, deep and commanding.

"Step forward, Rogers."

From the gates, they emerged—the spectral figures of Erland of Larvik, Jerome of Angren, Eisig, Ervyll, Gwenaël, and Varin—the lost masters of the School of the Griffin.

Their eyes were sharp, their postures regal, their very presence demanding respect.

Unlike the Wolves, who valued discipline, or the Cats, who thrived in chaos, the Griffins embodied control, mastery, and the unyielding pursuit of knowledge.

Erland, the first and greatest Griffin, gazed at him with piercing intensity. "A warrior without knowledge is a beast. A scholar without strength is a fool. You will be neither."

Steve set his jaw. "Then teach me."

The Griffins nodded.

And the trials began.

---

Lesson One: The Burden of Magic

The Griffins were scholars before they were warriors. Unlike other Witchers, they studied magic, bending it to their will with precision and control.

Steve stood at the heart of an ancient chamber, where runes glowed along the stone walls, humming with power.

Jerome of Angren stepped forward, his silver beard illuminated by the sigils. "Your mind is strong, Rogers, but your will must be stronger. Magic is not power—it is understanding. You will learn this, or you will break."

With a wave of his hand, the chamber came alive.

The air shimmered, and suddenly, the walls twisted, the floor stretched away into infinity. The sigils burned brighter, their energy latching onto Steve's very soul.

He felt his mind unraveling.

Visions crashed into him—memories not his own. A battlefield where men burned alive. A castle crumbling beneath a storm. A faceless horror swallowing the sky.

And then—

Peggy Carter.

Her voice, her smile, her touch. He reached for her—only for her to turn to dust in his hands.

Steve gasped, falling to his knees.

The Griffins watched. Cold. Unyielding.

Erland spoke. "A weak mind succumbs to the weight of knowledge. A strong mind bends it to his will. Now stand, Rogers."

Steve gritted his teeth, clenched his fists.

He was not weak.

He pushed back against the storm, tearing free of the illusions. The sigils dimmed, the visions vanished, and when he rose, his mind was sharper than ever before.

The Griffins nodded in approval.

"You learn quickly."

---

Lesson Two: The Art of Precision

Where the Wolves fought with ferocity and the Cats with speed, the Griffins fought with perfection.

They did not waste movements. Every strike, every spell, every action had purpose.

Steve trained in the ancient halls of Kaer Seren, where tapestries of old battles lined the walls. His instructors—Eisig and Gwenaël—tested him relentlessly.

"Your stance is too rigid. Loosen it."

"Do not react to an attack—anticipate it."

"Every fight is a battle of the mind before it is a battle of the blade."

Steve adjusted. He studied.

When Gwenaël struck at his blind spot, he dodged before the attack even came.

When Eisig cast a spell to unbalance him, he countered with his own, using Aard to deflect the force.

Bit by bit, he became more than a soldier—he became a duelist, a tactician, a master of combat.

Precision. Control. Mastery.

---

The Griffin's Trial – Judgment and Responsibility

The final test was not of combat.

It was of wisdom.

Erland led Steve to the peak of Kaer Seren, where two men knelt before him, bound and beaten.

One was a bandit, guilty of slaughtering an entire village.

The other was a farmer, falsely accused and sentenced without trial.

"One of them must die," Erland declared. "You must choose."

Steve's gut twisted. "There has to be another way."

Varin shook his head. "This is the trial. Justice is not about easy choices. It is about making the hard ones."

The bandit spat at Steve's feet. "I'd do it again."

The farmer sobbed. "I have a family. Please."

No easy answers. No perfect choices.

Steve took a slow breath. His mind, sharpened by the Griffins, analyzed every detail. The way the bandit carried himself—unrepentant, unafraid of death. The farmer—not just afraid, but hiding something.

And then—Steve saw it.

A faint tattoo on the farmer's wrist. A sigil of a criminal guild.

His eyes narrowed. "You're not innocent."

The farmer flinched.

Steve turned to the Griffins. "You wanted a choice? Here it is—I refuse to kill either of them without the full truth."

Silence.

Then—Erland smiled.

"Good."

With a wave of his hand, the illusion broke.

The men were gone.

The trial had been a test of wisdom, not blood.

---

A Griffin's Legacy

When Steve left Kaer Seren, he was more than just a warrior.

He was a scholar of battle, a tactician who understood the weight of every action, every decision.

Where the Wolves had given him strength, and the Cats had given him cunning, the Griffins had given him clarity.

As he walked down the mountain path, the voices of the Griffin Masters echoed behind him.

"Go forth, Rogers. Protect not just lives, but wisdom. The greatest weapon is the mind that wields it."

Steve Rogers, the Knight of the North, had one last trial before Westeros.

And it awaited him in the South.

The Trial of the Viper.